


Belong to Me

by Kate_Shepard



Series: Chains [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breathplay, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, F/M, Love, Non-Canon Relationship, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue, Shameless Smut, Sheterius, Slavery, Smut, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Shepard/pseuds/Kate_Shepard
Summary: AU where the First Contact War has not ended and humans taken as prisoners of war are allowed as slaves. When Sparatus gives Shepard to Saren five years after her capture, they both find more than they were expecting.





	1. Chapter 1

Another new owner. This was her fifth one and each had been progressively worse than the last. Five owners in the five years since she’d been captured on Shanxi. She thought it might be some kind of a record. She was fortunate to be alive and suspected that her continued existence had more to do with Sparatus’ fondness of her than any particular value she may once have held as a slave. A glance up through her lashes told her that it was likely that Sparatus’ fondness for her had reached its end and her life with it. Why else would she be presented to Spectre Saren Arterius as a gift?

She had been sent to reclaim the human colony of Shanxi from the turians yet again. This time, however, she’d been shackled by the Alliance’s insistence that she do it their way. She still didn’t understand why they hadn’t just trusted her. She had done it twice before. Yes, it had come with a heavy cost but that was nothing when compared to the staggering loss she’d suffered. Her entire team, slaughtered. Shanxi, unreclaimed. Herself, a captive to the aliens with which humanity had been at war for decades.

Councilor Sparatus himself had claimed her when she’d been brought before him after her capture. He hated humans as much as most other turians but he’d admired her grit. She supposed he hadn’t been a bad owner. He was fair and he didn’t punish her unjustly. He’d trained her, taught her his language and customs, and had treated her with some dignity and respect once she’d stopped fighting every step of the way. He had kept her for three years before his wife had threatened to kill her if he didn’t get rid of her. He’d been apologetic but he’d given her to Septimus Oraka. 

Septimus hadn’t been as bad as he could have been. The man was a drunk but not a cruel one. He’d largely ignored her when he wasn’t using her body. Unfortunately, he was a neglectful drunk and it hadn’t been uncommon for him to forget her for days or even weeks on end when he was on a bender. He’d almost starved her to death twice. C-Sec had discovered her the second time after he’d finally drunk himself to death. Sparatus had then given her to Joram Talid, a political acquaintance from whom Sparatus was attempting to garner favor.

Talid was extremely anti-human. She didn’t know if Sparatus had known that when he’d given her to him or not. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change what had been done to her. Talid had attempted to use her to get information about the Alliance in order to pressure the Council and Hierarchy to continue the war. He wanted humanity gone. She hadn’t given him what he’d wanted. He had tortured her until she’d been able to escape. She had pushed him out a window and run to the only person she knew. Sparatus had ruled Talid’s death a suicide, saving her from death, and had then given her to Commander Vyrnnus probably as punishment for the trouble she’d caused him.

Talid had, at least, had a reason for his cruelty. Vyrnnus had not. A former mercenary who’d been brought back into the Hierarchy for the war effort, he’d made Talid’s anti-human stance look mild and his methods look considerate. He hadn’t wanted information. He had only wanted to see her suffer and he had. Killing him had proven much more difficult. She knew that Sparatus would not forgive her again. She’d had to make it look like an accident and she was almost certain that she had either failed or Sparatus had just figured it out. 

 

Sparatus’ talons gripped her jaw tightly and she kept her eyes downcast as he angled her face up to his. “You may save your life yet, human. Serve Spectre Arterius as you served me and he will let you live. I know what you want,” he said. “I cannot give that to you. However, I can help you get it if you will cooperate.”

“Why?” she asked when what she really wanted to ask was how serving Saren Arterius was going to help her get free. The Spectre was notorious for his brutality and his loathing of humans. It was rumored he’d murdered his own brother. He would kill her in an instant and think nothing of it. But, despite everything, there was still a part of her that wanted to live. Asking the question she really wanted to ask would be pushing Sparatus too hard, though. 

“You don’t know?” he asked. “Nihlus Kryik is my son.”

Her eyes widened in recognition of the name as pieces began to fall into place. During her second reclamation of Shanxi, she had become trapped with a turian whom she had badly injured. Rather than finish him off as she probably should have done, she’d proposed setting aside their enmity in order to escape the collapsed building in which they’d found themselves. He had agreed. She’d treated his wounds in order to keep him alive and they had spent a week digging their way through the rubble. 

They had both spoken Galactic Standard and were able to communicate. She had learned that not all turians agreed with the war and that he was one of them. When they’d freed themselves, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to kill him. _‘Look, Nihlus. I’m really tired. I’m just going to rest here for an hour. You should probably go find your people now.’_ He’d nodded once, slowly, understanding what she was saying. He had given her a long, searching look before turning and jogging away into the morning fog. She’d never seen him again. 

Sparatus had used the present tense. That meant that Nihlus had survived. She felt a moment of relief for her temporary friend as she registered the ramifications. She had probably killed more turians than any other human alive but she’d saved Sparatus’ son. He owed her a personal debt. He could have counted it paid when he’d prevented his wife from killing her, though he likely knew that she could have taken his wife in her sleep, or when he’d kept her from being killed for the murder of Talid. That, apparently, wasn’t enough. His son was not just alive. He was free. She hadn’t killed him and she hadn’t taken him captive even when she could have. The debt wasn’t paid until she, too, was free but he wasn’t legally allowed to release her.

“I remember him,” she said.

He nodded. “The Council has decided that it is time to discuss the long-term effects this war is having on the galactic community as a whole. Exchanges of captives are common at the end of conflicts and you are highly valued by your people. You simply must survive for a few more months.”

“I understand, sir,” she said quietly. 

“I did not intend for you to be mistreated,” he said. “Had you not done what you did for Nihlus, I would have killed you myself for things you have done to others of my species. However, you not only did not cause him further harm; you also treated his wounds. He said that you showed him great kindness. I could not tell you when you were mine as Creatia does not know of my relation to him. However, I can do no less for you than you did for him. Saren is not gentle and your stay with him will likely be unpleasant but he will not torture or kill you unless you give him cause. I would give you to Nihlus but he is actively engaged in the war effort and could not take you.”

“I understand,” she said. 

“Do as I trained you to do and you will be safe,” he said. “Know this, though. Arterius is the longest-surviving Spectre in recent memory. He is one of our most highly-decorated agents. If we lose him, I will be forced to respond as a councilor rather than as an individual. Talid and Vyrnnus were dispensable. Saren is not.”

A few more months. A few more months and she would be free. All she had to do was act the proper slave and she could go home. It didn’t matter to her that she had no real home. She would be among her people again. It was enough. She could tolerate bowing and scraping for a few months. She vowed that no matter what Arterius chose to do to her, she would deal with it. Sparatus’ message was clear: if she killed Saren, she would die. 

Arterius snorted and shook his head. “You speak as if this human could stand a chance against me, Councilor. I am in no danger.” His voice dripped with venom when he spoke of her species but she was accustomed to the tone and ignored it. It was his absolute confidence that she would not be able to take him that rankled. She may be five years out from the Alliance and a shell of what she’d once been but she was still strong and she was still smart. She at least had a chance. She just couldn’t take it. 

__

Sparatus owed him. Saren didn’t like people as a rule and he despised humans since the disaster with Desolas. Being forced to own one was the last thing that he wanted. The councilor should have called his son home from the war. Nihlus didn’t hate humans—something which had never made sense to Saren before but did now—and it was ultimately his debt to repay. When Saren thought about slavery, he generally found it a trifle barbaric, especially where the batarians were concerned, but he had no sympathy for humans. If they hadn’t broken laws and then proven so aggressive and entitled, the war would have ended long ago and they possibly could have been invited into the galactic community like half a dozen races had done before. Instead, the humans were little more than better organized krogan. Perhaps a few decades of slavery would teach them some humility.

He looked down at the human on its knees and couldn’t deny that he believed that was where it belonged. Sparatus had used female pronouns and its head fur was long and its body slighter and shapelier than the males’ tended to be, so he assumed it was a female. He didn’t know what human standards of attractiveness were but wondered if they viewed her fur in the same way that turians did Nihlus’ plates. Red was uncommon in both species from what he’d seen. Unlike Nihlus’ green, though, her eyes were dark. She’d been in slavery for half a decade and Sparatus had said she’d been mistreated but she was still muscular enough that he could believe that she’d once been a soldier. The look in those dark eyes confirmed it. She was battered but she was not yet broken. A part of him wanted to be the one to do that but Sparatus had already denied him that pleasure. 

He could admit to some measure of curiosity about her. That, of course, was natural. She was an unknown and he was going to have to take her home with him. He needed to understand her. She had killed at least her last two owners and possibly the one before that. Thus far, Sparatus was the only one to have survived owning her. Saren planned to end this on his side of the equation rather than Oraka’s. That meant that he had to know what she would do, when, and why. He needed to understand why she seemed to hold no hostility toward Sparatus when she’d killed the rest.

For now, though, he had things he needed to do and this human was taking his time from doing so. He gestured for her to stand and Sparatus passed him the end of her leash. Saren clipped it to one of the magnetized holsters on his armor and turned to go, expecting her to follow. She did and he led her out of the Council chambers and down to the Presidium. He didn’t want to take her to his apartment and he wouldn’t take her to his ship. She was going to be released at the end of the war. She didn’t need to know anything more about turian design than she already did. Should the humans break faith, he wouldn’t risk her giving them intel. He summoned a cab and reflected on his options. He could take her to Nihlus’ but the other turian’s security was not as extensive—Nihlus called it obsessive; Saren called it pragmatic—as his. He also did not like being in other people’s spaces for extended periods of time. He could tolerate it when he had no other options but he did here. He could always upgrade his security or move when she left. Either way, it was inconvenient and put him into a foul mood.

He tugged her none too gently into the skycar and punched in the coordinates of his apartment. It wasn’t ideal but none of this situation was ideal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have a slavery AU fetish and a Saren fetish, so I decided to combine them. Saren is not the perpetrator of non-con elements, though, depending on mindset, anything between them could fall under dubcon. I tried to minimize any questions of consent between them as much as possible. This does get dark in later chapters as some of my fics do. Pay attention to the tags and read at your own risk.


	2. Chapter 2

She looked around the apartment to ensure that everything was in its place as it should be. Saren was fastidious almost to the point of compulsion and expected perfection in his home, Spartan as it was. She had been with him for two weeks now and had yet to learn much about him. He hadn’t hurt her yet, though experience had taught her to expect it at some point. He didn’t interact with her the way Sparatus had. He spoke to her only to give her an order or instruction on the way he expected something to be. He didn’t neglect her the way Septimus had. He’d allowed her to order her own food and kept a stock of it available. As long as he didn’t need her actively serving him, she was allowed a measure of autonomy to eat and drink as she pleased. And he didn’t beat her or torture her like Joram and Vyrnnus. Of course, she had yet to truly displease him. The prospect of freedom was a powerful motivator for obedience.

She had learned that he was almost obsessive about precision. He was intelligent. He had a collection of paper books that ranged in topics from history to philosophy to technical manuals and he actually read them. He was a loner. He hated humans but didn’t seem to see that as cause to mistreat her. He was patient when he needed to be but expected immediate compliance to his demands. He was arrogant but his arrogance seemed well-earned. 

He wasn’t lazy. He’d quickly come to utilize her for tasks he found to be menial but, unlike Sparatus, he didn’t wait around to be served. Instead, while she took care of things like preparing his food or cleaning his apartment, he used the increase in free time to work on tasks he found more important. It was not uncommon for her to serve his meals in his office where he would eat at his desk surrounded by datapads or for her to bring him drinks as he worked over the weapons bench modifying his extensive collection of weaponry. He was also borderline paranoid. His security system was the most advanced she’d ever seen. His visitors were rare but were greeted with a pistol in his hand. He monitored her constantly and never let his guard down around her. 

He had left her alone while he’d gone on what she assumed was an assignment for the Council but had let her know that there was surveillance around the apartment which he could tune into at any time and that his VI was set to prevent her from leaving the apartment. He’d ensured that she had everything she could need while he was gone and thus had no reason to leave or to call for any types of deliveries. She hadn’t minded. She had no plans for escape when real freedom was this close. She didn’t have access to the extranet but she had spent her days reading and basking in the freedom to do what she wished within the confines of her allowed space. 

He had sent word an hour before that he was on his way back and hungry so she’d prepared a meal he’d identified before as one of his favorites and had an herbal tea he enjoyed steaming on the stove when the door opened. His cold, silvery eyes scanned the apartment and he strode through to his workroom without speaking. He was still in armor and he looked not only predatory but deadly. He also looked stressed. When he returned, showered and dressed in civvies, she was waiting by his favorite chair on her knees with the mug of tea in her upraised hands. He enjoyed seeing her on her knees and she thought that any method of easing whatever was troubling him was worth the mild discomfort. She had long since lost any semblance of pride and kneeling before a turian no longer brought the deep wash of shame it once had. 

He took the cup from her and sat in his chair but, rather than reclining back and drinking it, he leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees. He didn’t acknowledge her presence and she felt free to surreptitiously watch him as he ran a sharply-taloned hand over his bare, plated face. His appearance was still strange to her. She’d gotten used to the aliens with whom her people warred and they no longer seemed entirely foreign to her the way they had in the beginning. She could even tell most of them apart by more than just their colony markings and had learned to read their expressions and some of the sounds they made. His appearance was different, though, with its strange fringe and lack of markings and the cowl he wore over his head.

Their faces were far less expressionate than a human’s due to the rigid plating but the movement of their brow plates, the tension around their eyes, and the position of their mandibles gave clues. It was their voices that told the real story. She didn’t have the instinctive understanding of their subvocalizations that a turian did but Sparatus had taught her to identify some of the more common ones. There were still many sounds she didn’t understand but she could generally get the basics if not the nuance. 

Saren, however, either didn’t utilize them or deliberately suppressed them. According to Sparatus, that was a mark of dishonesty in most turians but she had come to suspect that it was simply a result of Saren’s deep need for privacy within his own head. She was honestly surprised that he was letting even her see him as anything other than completely secure in himself. She supposed it was because he didn’t truly see her as a person. She was more like a work animal to him and there was no need, in his mind, to act as if he was anything but alone. He was clearly troubled. She didn’t know why she cared. She barely knew him, he owned her, and he was a member of an enemy race. He was still a person, though, and he had been better to her than she’d expected.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked quietly.

The look he gave her was slightly surprised but otherwise unreadable. She resisted the urge to squirm under his sharp perusal. “Why?” he eventually asked.

“You seem tense, sir,” she said.

He snorted lightly as if that was an understatement and looked her up and down again. “And you are far too small and too human to do anything to relieve that tension without breaking my vow to Sparatus not to harm you without cause. Thus far, you have failed to give me that cause.”

“May I try something?” she asked. “It does involve physical contact.”

“You wish to touch me?” he asked in what sounded like disbelief.

“Not particularly,” she answered honestly. “However, the methods I know for relieving tension generally involve some sort of touch. I can see the knots in your shoulders through your clothing. I think I can get them to loosen up.”

He eyed her warily and said slowly, “If you attempt to harm me, I will kill you.”

“I have no intention of harming you, sir,” she assured him. “You’ve given me no cause to do so.”

His eyes narrowed and he said, “Are you always this insubordinate, human?”

She thought about it for a moment. By his standards, she probably was. “Yes, sir,” she answered as she rose to her feet.

“It is no wonder then that you were beaten,” he said. He tensed further when her hands came to rest on his shoulders and she saw his hand flicker with blue before it died. She might have been surprised had she not already noticed the amp ports below his fringe on either side of his neck. Turian biotics were rare and seemingly even more stigmatized than human biotics still were. The Alliance had already figured out that turian biotics tended to be assigned to specialized units but Sparatus had informed her that it was because of the stigma rather than respect for their abilities. Regular soldiers didn’t trust them so the Cabals were kept separate. It explained a lot about Saren.

Sparatus had also taught her how to massage a turian. It was far more difficult to do than with a human and was a fairly new pleasure for them, one introduced by the asari. Turians tended to focus more on fighting or sex for stress relief but Sparatus’ duties as councilor had regularly left him tight as a bow string. She hadn’t done it in a couple of years but the lessons came back to her quickly and she began to work at the knots in Saren’s shoulders. It was an odd sensation as their skin was far rougher than a human’s and the position of their collarbone bisected the muscle group. He gave no reaction to her touch but she thought that he would tell her if he wanted her to stop, so she continued. Gradually, the locked muscles began to loosen and she moved from his shoulders to the inner ring of his collar where Sparatus had held a lot of tension. Attention there could turn the councilor to mush. She’d learned that most requests given after that would be granted. 

Saren, apparently, wasn’t terribly different. He didn’t melt—not that she’d expected him to—but his soft sigh and the way he visibly relaxed told her that she’d found his weakness as well. She didn’t, however, expect that it would be enough to affect his judgment or soften his attitude. It might just keep her off of the receiving end of those wicked-looking talons, though, and that was enough. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

After a long moment, he said, “Are you familiar with batarians?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

He said, “About ten years ago, they began preying on hanar colonies. Their activities stopped abruptly after only a few months. No one seems to know why. However, they have recently begun to resume. The entire transport was dead by the time I arrived. Dehydration. The batarians were using Blood Pack mercenaries to hit the colony. They knew nothing useful. It was a wasted mission. I despise wasting my time.” He rolled his shoulders and tilted his head from side to side as if testing his increased flexibility but when her hands moved to the back of his neck, he said shortly, “Don’t,” and she lifted her hands. “Is there food?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she answered and began to walk to the kitchen.

He stopped her with a quiet, “Thank you, human.” He had never thanked her for anything before and from the grudging tone of his voice, she thought it was a rare thing for him. He must have noticed her curious expression because he said, “I do not express gratitude or praise for doing one’s job. However, compassion and insight were not something I expected from a human.”

“You’re welcome,” she said quietly and turned toward the kitchen once more.

He accepted the plate she brought him and she cleaned his armor and his weapons without being asked. His weapons were keyed to his DNA and would not activate for her, so they were little more than blunt objects in her hands. The knives in the kitchen were far more dangerous. As long as they stayed in the kitchen, he didn’t seem concerned about her handling the knives. His concern with his weapons was more along the lines of her damaging them than her being able to harm him with them but, after watching her closely for the first few minutes, he seemed to accept that she knew what she was doing and showed the proper respect. 

His guns were top of the line, better than anything she’d ever seen in the Alliance, and heavily modified to the point that they were more like prototypes of entirely new weapons than anything the manufacturer would have originally intended. He took excellent care of them and her own military training dictated that she do no less. Besides, it wouldn’t do for him to die now due to her carelessness. She was almost certain that she was relatively safe with him and she preferred him over the unknown of whoever she would be placed with after him. 

He checked over her work when she was finished and replaced his armor and weapons in the locker without complaint so she supposed she’d done well enough. She cooked a meal for herself and then cleaned the kitchen before settling down at his feet with a book. He would allow her to utilize the furniture but preferred it when she was in the room with him when she wasn’t actively working as it made it easier for him to get her attention when he needed something. He didn’t like having to look for her or yell across the house. There was nowhere else to sit in his office and the desk allowed her a prop for her back. 

“I’m afraid my books do not have pictures, human,” he said from above her.

“That’s fine,” she said. “I don’t need diagrams, sir.”

“If you would like to actually read and can do so, there is a treatise on the Krogan Rebellions written in Galactic Standard,” he offered.

“I already read it,” she said, turning the page.

“And the history of the Galactic Council?” he asked.

“That, too,” she said. “Along with the history of your Unification War and the one about the Rachni Wars. That one was interesting.” She’d already known the basics of that but reading the entire history gave her a better understanding of the turians’ extreme reaction to the humans’ attempt to activate the dormant Relay 314. It didn’t justify the continuation of the war but she did at least understand now why it had started.

“Those are written in Palaveni,” he stated.

“So’s this,” she said, gesturing to the one in her hands. It was an essay on turian military strategies and the reasons behind them. She wasn’t sure he would want her to read it but it hadn’t told her much she hadn’t already observed in the field. It did give her a better understanding of their mentalities but she didn’t think it would be particularly useful to her with the war ending.

“You can read Palaveni,” he said.

“Councilor Sparatus taught me,” she told him. “I have an affinity for foreign languages.”

“I am simply surprised that you can read, human. What else do you speak?” he asked.

“A little bit of asari, a few words in salarian, and six different human languages,” she answered. “I can’t speak much of yours, of course, because I don’t have a second larynx to produce the correct vocalizations and my accent is reportedly atrocious but I can understand it as well as a couple of the more common colonial dialects like Aephyian and Taetrian and I can read and write Palaveni.”

“Why would Sparatus teach you our language?” he asked in Taetrian.

“There were no human/turian translation programs when he acquired me,” she answered in a mix of Palaveni, Aephian, and asari. “He grew tired of being forced to speak Galactic Standard in his home to make himself understood.”

“You are right,” he said. “Your accent is atrocious.”


	3. Chapter 3

Saren wasn’t sure what to think about his human. He’d had her for almost a month and he was surprised by how little he minded her presence. She was quiet and spoke only when spoken to. She didn’t bother him while he was working. She had learned to anticipate his needs and desires and he rarely had to provide her with instruction anymore. He was beginning to think that he had finally found a use for humans. If she was any indication, they made excellent slaves. It was simply a pity that the war was ending and slavery was still illegal in Citadel space. The humans were held under a prisoner of war exception that allowed them to receive housing and food outside of prison facilities in exchange for service but that would end with the war. 

She was more intelligent than he’d originally credited her species. After discovering her reading, he had questioned her comprehension and found that she not only could read the words themselves, she could understand and apply what she had learned. He had provided her with a manual, a broken omni-tool, and a limited-access terminal and she had not only repaired the omni-tool but improved his tactical cloak software tenfold. After noting the longing way her hands tended to drift over his sniper rifle when she thought he wasn’t looking, he’d taken her to the range with a practice rifle and had been astounded to discover that she was a better sniper than he was and he was good. 

He’d begun to consider taking her on missions with him. Of course, he would have to avoid taking her on anything involving humans but missions like the batarian slave raid on the hanar colonies could be appropriate. He was accustomed to working alone but he’d enjoyed training Nihlus and thought that there were several situations he’d encountered over the years where an ace in the hole would have been helpful. She could be that ace as long as he could trust her not to run or to shoot him in the back. Unfortunately, that meant allowing her on his ship and he wasn’t certain that he was ready for that. The _Desolate_ was far more advanced than the average turian warship. She was still a member of an alien race and he didn’t trust her. 

He had been on the Citadel for two solid weeks without a mission and he was getting restless. She seemed to be as well and he reflected that she had not left the apartment in the month since she’d been given to him aside from the single trip to the range. The Armax Arena across the way from his apartment had decent sims and he’d used it for training in the past. He decided to take her there and test out his idea. She seemed curious when they arrived and that curiosity only deepened when he rented a set of asari armor in what he thought would be the right size for her. She dressed obediently, though, and accepted the rifle loaded with practice rounds that he gave to her when she returned from the dressing room. A glare at the other occupants of the arena gave them the area to themselves and he gestured for her to accompany him.

“You want me to kill simulated human soldiers?” she asked with a raised brow when she noted his selection.

“Think of them as terrorists,” he said. “We will do turians next if you survive this round.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” she said and surveyed the terrain.

He had provided her with sniping perches and cover and she went to them without hesitation as the enemies began to appear. She was good, he noted. She didn’t just guard his back and allow him to do the brunt of the fighting. She took down targets with an unerring skill that belied her five-year hiatus. Not all of them were headshots but enough of them were that he wondered how good she had been before her capture. She didn’t seem to care that the targets were human. She took them down anyway. 

When the round was finished, he saw that they had toppled his previous high score. It could have been a fluke. More testing was needed. As promised, he gave her turians. This time, though, he sat back to watch. He was beginning to develop another theory and he wanted to test that as well. He set the location of the sim to Shanxi and could tell that she immediately recognized it. She’d been there. That meant little, though. Many Alliance soldiers had fought there. He activated the three turian platoons he planned to send after her and watched her locate the one defensible position in the arena without having to search for it. Her eyes met his as the turians began to approach and she called out, “You know, I had an omni-tool, too. If you really want historical accuracy, I need access to tech attacks.”

“Burn me and I will destroy you,” he promised her and removed an omni-tool from a compartment in his armor. He tossed it over to her and she slid the chip into the port in her wrist. A moment later, fire shot from her hand and three turians dropped. 

He watched as she systematically destroyed the leaders of each team, adjusting automatically as they seamlessly shifted command. They were still far enough away and her position was protected enough that she didn’t need to waste her time on the common soldiers. As soon as one rose to lead, she took him out, keeping the rest off-balance. Without leadership, they could not coordinate an attack. Turian companies were trained to shift command when a leader fell but until one was established, they had no orders. Turians led from either the front or the rear. The only thing that could possibly protect them now would be to go to the center. The sim wasn’t programmed to do that as most turian companies would not react that way. He was certain of her identity now—something that had not concerned him in the least until he’d seen her fight—and was watching for his own curiosity.

He knew several people who’d been on Shanxi when she’d been captured and had heard the story. It was legendary among the Hierarchy because they had been attempting to get her for almost a decade. She was reportedly one of the most highly-decorated officers in the Alliance, bested only by her father. She was responsible for the deaths of more turians than any single human alive. She had reclaimed Shanxi twice and had almost succeeded in doing it a third time. 

He had heard rumors that Jon Grissom himself had offered up a reward for information about her whereabouts or her safe return. Saren believed them. He had been to Elysium once in search of a krogan bounty hunter and had run across the man. The human had had an inordinate number of news articles on the commander. In searching the house, Saren had found evidence that Grissom was her father. He’d held that information as it could prove useful in the future to be able to show that the human war hero had not one but two secret daughters. Given the lengths to which he’d gone to protect one, he thought he would only do more for the one he’d actually remained in contact with. Saren didn’t know if she knew who her father was or if she had simply believed him to be a commanding officer and mentor but, unlike Kahlee Sanders, Grissom had actually known her, likely because she was as different from her half-sister as night from day and far more like her father. 

When she had all but destroyed the third platoon, he cast a stasis in her direction and dismissed the remaining targets. He’d seen everything he needed to. The look in her eyes was both distant and murderous and he maintained the stasis now because he was all but certain that she was no longer mentally in an arena on the Citadel and was instead back on Shanxi. She would try to kill him now whether she wanted him specifically dead or not. From what he’d seen of her, she probably wouldn’t succeed, at least not without real rounds in her weapon, but she would be a formidable foe. 

“Hello, Commander Shepard,” he said. He plucked the rifle from her stiff fingers and tossed it across the arena before removing the omni-tool chip from its port, effectively disarming her. She was an infiltrator. Hand-to-hand would not be one of her strong suits. He had two feet and more than a hundred pounds on her. He could disable her easily even without his biotics. 

He released the stasis as he locked her wrists behind her back with one hand and fitted her back to his chest with an arm around her waist. She fought as well as she could, kicking and attempting to wrench herself from his grasp, but he held her firmly. He said, “Stop fighting.”

She disregarded his instruction and continued to struggle. A combination of frustration and something else rose in him. Her resistance was futile. She had to see that. He felt his plates loosen and told himself it was simply the idea that he had captured Commander Shepard—even if it was only a sim—and not a response to her human body against his. The idea that Commander Shepard now knelt at his feet and served him was an admittedly heady one. “Let me go,” she snarled. 

“No,” he answered and wondered if he was still playing along with her or if he was actually going to resist releasing her when the time came for her to be returned to her people. The great Commander Shepard was his and he felt a darkly growing sense of possessiveness at the idea. “You belong to me now, Commander.”

That seemed to spark something in her because she began to fight him in earnest and succeeded in wrenching partially away from him. He could see her face now and her eyes held a combination of terror and fury. She spit in his face and her tiny fist met his mandible with a resounding crack and his grip momentarily loosened on her. She pulled away from him and ran for the rifle. He threw another stasis at her as she scooped it up and turned on him. He heard her growl deep in her throat and his plates shifted fully, leaving him pressed uncomfortably against the inside of his armor. He ignored his body’s response to her as he stalked up to her.

“Stop, Shepard,” he commanded and dismissed the sim. “You are not on Shanxi. You are on the Citadel.”

She blinked and he saw her eyes move from side to side, taking in her surroundings. His intention with the stasis was to stop her from fighting, not to completely immobilize her. She looked back up at him and then closed her eyes. “You could have just asked,” she said as he released the stasis. 

“What would be the fun in that?” he asked.

“Fun,” she repeated darkly. “Yeah. Fun.”

She was quieter than normal for the remainder of the day. She rarely spoke anyway but now her silence held the weight of contemplation. Her eyes didn’t meet his again and her motions were heavy. She didn’t read that night but instead sat at his feet with her arm draped over her knees and stared at the wall while absently tracing the ragged scar along her throat with a finger. She didn’t eat, either, and he began to believe that he had made a grave error in judgment. She had seemed content if nothing else before. Now, she did not. She had found an equilibrium in her captivity and he had taken it from her. She was human. Why did the idea that he had hurt her make him feel vaguely guilty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually originally intended as a one-shot but got out of hand so it does move more quickly than many of my stories.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of past abuse here.

The days that followed were difficult ones for Shepard. She had thought she’d made peace with her situation. She had thought that her impending freedom made her impervious to any more hurt. She had thought that she’d experienced the full range of pain that a human could endure and had lost everything she had left to lose. Sparatus had taken her freedom and her identity. He had tried to make her more like him so that he could set aside his hatred of her species and repay his family’s debt. Both he and Septimus had taken her body but that had been all that Oraka wanted. He’d used her as nothing more than a stand-in for the consort he loved. He hadn’t been cruel about it. He’d been in pain and that somehow made it worse because she’d found herself pitying him when she should have despised him. Talid had been cruel and he had hurt her, tortured her, for information she wouldn’t give. 

Vyrnnus had been the worst. He’d been a sadistic bastard. He’d had to revive her on more than one occasion to keep playing with her simply because he enjoyed killing her. She traced the scar on her throat where the blade had ripped through skin and tendons and blood vessels as she remembered feeling her own blood gushing from the wound, her life draining away in a hot liquid spray that had bathed his face and filled his open mouth. He’d kept medigel and human blood stocked in the dungeon in which he’d kept her until she wondered if any of the blood that ran through her veins now was her own.

What Saren had done, though, was a different kind of sadistic. He’d sent her back to Shanxi and forced her to relive her capture. With armor and weapons and an omni-tool in her possession, she’d felt like herself for the first time in years. The sim had been real enough that she had almost believed herself to be back there and, without his involvement, she’d gone even deeper into the fantasy. A part of her mind had screamed that if she could just get out of this, she could somehow change everything that had followed. And then he’d taken her down again and had used a cheap trick to do it.

Moreover, though, it had brought back her memories of her dead team. Kaidan and Ash who’d been with her and the rest who’d followed her orders to hit the garrison. It had been a trap and she’d sent her people right into it. She could blame the Alliance. She could blame the team leader. She didn’t. She blamed herself. And when the explosion had come, Ash and Kaidan had remained by her side, trusting her to get them through. She hadn’t. She had watched them die and she hadn’t had time to even say goodbye to their bodies because she’d been forced to run and to keep running for days until it had become clear that she would have to make her final stand. She had and then they’d captured her and taken her to the Citadel and she’d pushed the thoughts of them away so that she could maintain her sanity.

She was thinking about them now. She couldn’t stop thinking about them. They were dead and it was her fault and everything that had come after had not atoned for their deaths. She didn’t deserve freedom. Kaidan’s parents would never be free of the grief of losing their only son. Ashley’s sisters would never again be able to turn to her when they needed her. Neither of them would see their families or their home again. What right did she have to do so? 

She did her duty to Saren. She cooked his meals and washed his clothes and cleaned his house and served his food. She answered his questions in a dull monotone and she obeyed his commands. But the anticipation she’d held for the end of the war and her captivity had vanished like smoke on the wind. What time she spent not working, she stared blankly at the walls that enclosed her and she watched her people die. She relived her own abuse. She felt the pang of starvation, the violations of her body, the thuds of armored fists, the slice of the blade, the burn of the torch. Still, it was not enough. It would never be enough.

“Human,” Saren said, closing out his omni-tool. She turned to look up at him, wondering if she’d missed his glass emptying or a sign that he was hungry. His glass still held water and his eyes on hers were steady. “Where will you go when you are free?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. 

“Do you have family?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I never knew my father and my mother died when I was six. I grew up on the streets. My unit was my family.” She hesitated and said, “May I ask you a question, sir?” He gave a curt nod and she said, “Were you there?”

“On Shanxi?” he asked. When she nodded, he said, “No. Why do you ask?”

She said, “I was wondering if any of them survived.”

“No,” he said. “You were the only captive taken. Is that where you have been this past week? Shanxi?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered. She looked down at her hands and said quietly, “You know, they used to call me one of the greatest military leaders in human history. I was about to be promoted to captain. I was twenty-six years old and about to be a captain after only eight years in service. I was projected to be a rear admiral by thirty-five. The youngest in history.” She laughed bitterly. “Would you like to know how many people have died under my command? Twenty the first time we took back Shanxi. Fifteen the second. Twenty-nine the last time I tried. Sixty-four men. _My_ men. Just on Shanxi. At least half of the people in every unit I have led on that world have died and it was worth it when we succeeded and I know it was worth it to them. But when we failed? Twenty-nine people are dead because I failed them. Yeah, I’m a _great_ leader. Jon Grissom must be ashamed to have my name listed alongside his and I don’t blame him. He was my mentor, you know. He hates people but he saw something in me and I have no idea what it is.”

“People die in war,” Saren said. “Humans’ problem is that they want to save everyone. Collateral damage is unavoidable. Do not concern yourself with it.”

“I wish I could be that cold,” she said. 

“It isn’t cold,” he disagreed. “It is pragmatism. People die. That is an inescapable fact. Your military is voluntary. They all knew and accepted the risks. You completed your mission twice despite the cost. You could have completed it a third time had you shown the cleverness you displayed the first two times. What in spirits’ name possessed you to take the most obvious route?” 

“The Alliance,” she answered. “I had my orders. I followed them even though I knew they were bad ones.”

He shrugged and turned his attention back to his datapad. “Then I do not know why you feel guilty. Your superiors made the call. The failure of the mission was their responsibility, not yours.”

“I knew the order was bad and I followed it anyway,” she repeated.

When he looked at her again, she could almost imagine him turning to peer over a set of glasses. “I heard you,” he said. “You did your duty.”

“Turians just blindly follow bad orders?” she asked. “Is that normal for you?”

“Yes,” he said. “Our entire system is based upon following the orders of one’s superiors. If I am in command and the mission fails, it is my fault and I am expected to take responsibility. If my superior gives me a bad order and I follow it and my mission fails, the responsibility for that failure is on my superior and not on me because each piece must perform its task the way it is meant to. If one decides that one can arbitrarily choose which orders to follow and which to refuse, the entire system fails. But if humans are allowed to do so, then perhaps that is why they are losing the war and need the Council to step in and save them. Operational discipline is sadly lacking among your species.”

“So it doesn’t matter if your mission is an utter disaster as long as you weren’t the one calling the shots?” she asked. “Where’s the personal responsibility in that system?”

“Personal responsibility is one of the tenets of our culture,” he said, sounding mildly offended. “That does not mean that we will martyr ourselves on another’s failing. Honestly, I am simply surprised that a human knows the definition of the word. It seems that nothing is ever the humans’ fault. I am glad to know that we finally have someone on whom we can lay all of the blame for their many flaws. Do not waste my time grieving over someone else’s mistake.”

“Your time?” she asked.

“You are mine,” he said simply. “Your time is mine as well. Utilize it for something productive and further educate yourself or, better yet, go make dinner. I am starving and I have work to do.”

Strangely enough, his snarky attitude made her feel better. It still didn’t change the fact that she’d known the call was bad and had followed it anyway and her people had died for it but it did make her feel like a little bit less of a failure herself. Like maybe her sin was forgivable after all. She turned in the doorway and said, “Master?” He looked up. “Thank you.”

“You are still wasting my time, Shepard,” he said and turned back to his datapad.


	5. Chapter 5

Shepard was exhausted but she had at least shaken free of whatever had left her so depressed over the past several days. Saren was still not sure why he would care at all about her emotional status. Humans, by and large, were far too emotional in the first place. She had shown herself to be very pragmatic while in his possession until the incident at the arena. He had not expected it to shake her that deeply. He hadn’t imagined that she could feel herself at fault. It would never have occurred to a turian to blame himself for his commanders’ failures. A turian simply would have said, _I followed my orders,_ and moved on. He supposed it wasn’t entirely surprising that she would dwell on that given all that it had cost her but he’d expected her anger to be directed at the Alliance rather than herself. He didn’t know if she was simply that blindly loyal to her people or if she just had that overgrown of a sense of personal responsibility. 

It had been a long day. He had read that exercise was one of the recommendations for humans with depression (he’d looked it up only because her dark mood had been annoying, not because he wanted to make her feel better) and so he’d taken her out this morning for a run. She needed to get back into shape anyway if she was going to accompany him on missions. She was far too thin. 

They had run the length of Tayseri Ward and back twice. It had taken longer than it should have because she was slower than he’d anticipated and he had to hang back to allow her to keep up with him even with her moving at a dead run. They had then gone to the gym to work out. The other Spectres there had cast sideways glances at her but the salarians, at least, had been impressed by the amount of weight she was able to lift and at her endurance. Again, he wondered what she’d been like in her prime. He knew that she exercised daily on her own. He had seen her do it. But there was only so much that one could do with only one’s body for resistance. After the gym had been the firing range where he’d tested her with an M-98 Widow. It should have broken her shoulder but she had handled it and had been accurate if not perfect. 

After their workout, he’d taken her with him to the Council chambers where she’d waited outside while he’d been briefed on the current state of the war. Then they had gone about the Presidium to purchase new clothing for her. The rags she had would not be suitable in the field. Human military style, surprisingly enough, had somehow made its way to the Citadel and she had laughed at the sight of redesigned military uniforms on the racks beside the more popular asari styles. She’d taken what she called cargo pants and several utilitarian shirts anyway along with a pair of leather boots that she’d then returned to the apartment and shined. He’d approved of her choices. 

After lunch, they had gone back out. He had people to question and felt that he should know now if she was going to object to his methods. He didn’t need a sniveling human female begging for mercy for his enemies. He should have known better. Shepard didn’t snivel. He’d been so proud of her, in fact, that he’d allowed her to interrogate the turian Blue Suns member. He’d been impressed with her creativity and with the answers she had gotten. But when he asked her where she had learned her methods, she’d answered, “Joram Talid.” When pressed, she’d said, “I figured if it was the go-to torture method for a turian, it must work really well on a turian.”

“What do you mean?” he’d asked. “How do you know that?”

“He used it on me,” she’d answered matter-of-factly. 

“That would be worse with a human,” he’d stated. “Your hide is thinner and has more nerve endings.”

“Yes,” she’d agreed. “I imagine it is more painful with a human.”

“Did he get what he wanted from you?” he’d asked.

“No,” she’d said. “He tried many times but he failed.”

He was shocked by the level of anger he’d felt toward his fellow turian on behalf of this human. His feelings toward her did not make sense in any galaxy. He was…protective of her. She had been through much and she bent but she had yet to break. She was ruthless when she needed to be but somehow managed to temper that with kindness to others—something he had no idea how to do—and there were still things that could make her smile. She was quite possibly the only human he could tolerate and a large part of him wanted to know that she was out there.

His protectiveness of her was put to the test long before he was prepared for it. It was late in the night cycle on the Presidium but down in the Wards, it might as well have been the middle of the day. Shepard was stumbling along behind him, half dead on her feet from exhaustion, when he came to an abrupt stop and she ran into his back. She mumbled an apology and began to walk again but he pulled her behind him once more and shortened the chain attached to her collar as he drew his pistol.

“Saren Arterius,” one of the batarians said. “We have business to discuss.”

“I have no business with you,” he said, noting the way that the batarian’s second set of eyes was locked onto Shepard.

“I’m afraid you do,” the batarian said. “I am Drax Dar’hess. You raided my shipment. Stole my goods. Cost me a lot of money. I want it back.”

Saren smiled coldly. It wasn’t often that fortune this good landed in his lap. It seemed his trip to the slave transport hadn’t been as wasted as he’d thought. The batarian was accompanied by five others and Shepard was dead on her feet. He would have to be careful to keep her from being hurt but his odds were good. Six on one was only beginning to approach fair with him. He tucked Shepard more fully behind him, gratified to find that she had grasped the seriousness of their situation and that she had pulled herself into awareness. His odds were even better now. He placed his hand over hers on his sniper rifle and then unclipped her leash from his waist. She took the end in her hand and he felt her tuck it into her shirt. One of her hands came to rest on his sniper rifle and the other on his waist. He ignored the feeling of the latter as he ensured that, to the batarians, his move had simply looked like he was shielding her.

“No,” Saren said. 

The batarian tilted his head to the right in insult and said, “A trade, then. Your human for the cargo. She’s unique with that hair. She’ll get a good price. Batarians like red.” 

Hair. So that was what the stuff on her head was called. “No,” he said again. She belonged to him. He didn’t know if he would give her back to her own people unless he was ordered to do so. He certainly would not give her up to this scum. He would analyze his possessiveness of her later. For now, it was enough that she was his and he was not going to allow a batarian crime lord in an alleyway steal from him.

“I don’t think you understand how this works, Spectre,” the batarian said. “You are outnumbered and outgunned. Even you cannot stand up to an entire mercenary team and protect your slave. You’re going to lose her either way. You can let her die and still be left owing me or you can give her to me and we will call it even.”

“Snipers,” Shepard whispered from behind him. “Two on the rooftops. One in front of you with a line on me. One behind you with a laser dot on your head. Another six mercs closing in behind us in the alley.”

Fourteen to two. He hoped that Shepard was still as good as he believed and that she could perform in real life as well as she had done in the sim. He was not going to let this bastard take her but the batarian was right. His odds had changed. It would have been a welcome challenge had he been their primary target. He was unaccustomed to being concerned about someone else’s well-being. “She is mine,” he said, popping the seal on one of the compartments in his armor. Shepard’s hand slipped into it and he heard a faint click as the omni-tool chip slid into her port. She had no armor but now she at least had shields and a tactical cloak. “And so are you.”

Shepard moved with him as though her body was an extension of his as he angled himself and drew his pistol. He felt the sniper rifle release from its holster and heard a shout as her tactical cloak engaged and she disappeared. He fired four rounds in quick succession, taking out most of the batarians’ goons and heard the rifle crack behind him. The snipers on the rooftop fell with a dull thud. Eight on two. Their odds were good again. 

The rifle cracked again from a different position and someone behind them shouted. He shot the fifth goon as Drax fired on him. His shields absorbed the impact and he warped the batarian with his biotics before overloading his pistol. Behind him, Shepard fired again. Six on two. He cast Drax into stasis and turned to assist her with the other mercs. A third went down as he exchanged his pistol for his assault rifle and then opened fire. A round punched through his shield and armor and into his hip and the assailant fell with a neat hole in his head. The remaining two fell to his assault rifle and he returned his attention to the slaver. 

Drax glared defiantly at him through the stasis. Saren shifted it further down to allow movement of the head and said, “Where are the slaves going?”

“Screw you,” the batarian answered.

“I do not sully myself with your kind,” he said as Shepard came up to him and slapped her hand to the wound in his hip. Her omni-tool glowed and he felt the cool slide of medigel against the burning hide. He put the barrel of his pistol up to the batarian’s head and said, “Do not make me ask you again.” Beside him, Shepard held the sniper rifle in a relaxed grip that still managed to relay readiness for any situation and turned to watch his back. It occurred to him that she could run while his attention was on the batarian and that she could have done so during the firefight. He’d been wounded and outnumbered. There were human sympathizers on the Citadel who would have smuggled her back into the human-controlled territories and she had a tactical cloak that would allow her to move undetected, a weapon, tech attacks, and extranet access. She had everything she needed to escape and yet she was still here, guarding his six. 

Honor was another trait he had not associated with humans. She had made an agreement with Sparatus to stay with and serve Saren in exchange for her freedom. Freedom that would come with a trade of their people. Freedom that would allow prisoners of his species to finally come home. She was honoring their agreement even when she did not have to. The humans were already offering at least three of his people in exchange for her and the Council was pressing for a fourth. They were high-profile turians who would not otherwise be released. She was the strongest leverage the Hierarchy had. That was part of why she had been given to him. His job was to keep her alive and prevent her from escaping. He didn’t know what it meant that his duty to the Council to protect her was only a thought now that the danger was over. 

“Kar’Shan,” the batarian said. 

“I could have guessed that on my own,” Saren told him. “Who on Kar’Shan wants them?”

“You will have to kill me, then,” Drax said. “I cannot answer that.”

“Batarians believe the soul leaves the body through the eyes, don’t they?” Shepard asked casually beside him.

“They do,” he confirmed. 

“Well,” she said in the same tone, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last five years, it’s that there’s dying and then there’s _dying_. Dying isn’t all that bad. It only hurts for a few seconds. Dying over and over again, though, that’s pretty miserable. And dying knowing that your soul will be trapped in your body forever? That would probably suck.”

As the batarian’s eyes widened, Saren thought he might actually love her. “You heard her,” he said. “What will it be? Quick death or eternity trapped in your dead, eyeless body?”

“Balak,” he answered quickly. “Balak wants them.”

“Coward,” Shepard muttered derisively.

Yes. He definitely loved her. Too bad she was a human. He shot the batarian and she collapsed his rifle and replaced it on his back before pulling the chain from her shirt and clipping it to his waist again. The brush of her soft hand over his waist combined with the adrenaline still rushing through his veins and her handling of the situation to bring him out of his plates for the second time in her presence. He forced himself to replace his pistol in its holster and turn away from her before he took her up against the wall. He didn’t care anymore that she was human. She was _his_ human. That didn’t mean that he would rape her, though, and he had no indication that she held anything but a grudging respect for him.


	6. Chapter 6

Saren had been gone for three weeks tracking down the slavers. Shepard was still trying to process everything that had happened with Drax Dar’hess from the audacity the batarian showed in confronting Saren to the possessiveness in the turian’s voice when he’d said, ‘She is mine,’ to her own refusal to run and leave him to them. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she could do it until she’d removed the omni-tool chip from her wrist and replaced it in the compartment on his armor. Even if it had, she knew she wouldn’t have done it. She’d given Sparatus her word and he and Saren were possibly the only two turians she respected outside of Nihlus. Sparatus had owned her, yes, but he’d been kind to her in his way. Saren had been more than good to her, especially considering his views on her species. He was hard and distant and cold most of the time but he’d still been good to her. She couldn’t have left him there, outnumbered and outgunned, to be taken down by slavers and mercenaries. 

She waited beside the door with a mug of tea as had become her custom when he returned from a mission. He would come in, take the tea with him to the workroom, strip his armor, and take a second cup of tea into the shower with him. When he returned, he would sit down and write his report as she cooked a meal. He didn’t eat well when he was away on missions and was always ravenous when he returned. After his report was finished, he might tell her about it or he might simply send her away to do her own thing for the evening. 

She knew the moment the door opened that this would not be a normal return. He stepped into the entryway and stood there as the door locked behind him. His boots were covered in blood in a rainbow of hues. There was a new hole in his armor, this time on the shoulder, and the expression in his silvery eyes was one she had seen many times on soldiers but hadn’t expected to see in Saren’s. Whatever he’d seen, whatever he’d done, it had been terrible. His body was tense, his movements jerky, and he snarled at her when she placed her hand on his thigh. She removed it and set the mug on the table beside the door. 

He watched her with predatory eyes as she took him by the elbow and led him into his work room. The low, rumbling growl in his chest was warning but she disregarded it as she unclipped his weapons and placed them on the weapons bench for her to clean later. He continued to watch as she began to pop the seals on his armor and remove it piece by piece. She gently probed the ragged hole in the undersuit on his shoulder. Dried cobalt blood and medigel made the fabric hard and his mandibles widened to show his teeth in another snarl as she drew it down to reveal the wound. “Is there anything in it?” she asked.

“No,” he answered in a voice that was more secondary than primary vocals and made him sound like a big cat. A big, angry cat. He remained where he was, stripped to the waist, as she went to the first aid kit and brought back what she needed. The wound wasn’t deep and she didn’t think it needed surgery so she cleaned it as well as she could without having him in the shower. His pale plates and hide made it easy to gauge where the damage was and she applied a medigel-coated bandage to it that she was almost certain would suffice until he took himself to the clinic. 

Still, he didn’t move, so she knelt down and began to remove his boots and greaves. She noted green salarian, purple asari, blue turian, and red blood that could have come from several species splattered across the white ablative plating like paint on canvas. It was morbidly pretty and she shook her head at herself. Blood had long since ceased to have an effect on her. 

She had also lost any sense of modesty when it came to nakedness and turians, so she turned her attention to working the undersuit from his hip spurs. Her hand brushed his waist and he hissed in a breath and clenched his fists. Her eyes flew up to his face and found his closed and his head tilted back. Her suspicion was confirmed when she drew the suit down his legs and he groaned as the fabric rubbed against his exposed erection. His throat worked visibly as he swallowed and her attention returned to his groin. His plates were fully open and he was completely out of his sheath. Lubricant coated it and she was taken aback by the strength of his arousal. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that a turian who hated humans had wanted her body but he seemed to be fighting it. The tension in his forearms and thighs answered her unspoken question. He was stressed. Highly stressed. There were very few people who could give him even a moment’s competition in a spar and they were all fellow Spectres. Battle wasn’t enough. Turians needed their hands on another being, needed an actual fight or a fuck, once stress levels got to a certain point. And Saren worked alone. And he had been on a mission that was clearly stressful. 

“Do you want me to make an appointment with the Consort?” she asked softly.

“No,” he said. “I am not Oraka. It will ease.”

“Do you want to spar?” she asked.

“No,” he said again. “At this point, I would harm you. Spirits, Shepard, get off your damn knees before I…” his voice trailed off into a groan as she ran her tongue up the length of him, tasting the tangy flavor of him. “Shepard, I can’t…I will…I’ll _hurt_ you,” he groaned.

“I won’t break,” she said against his shaft. 

His hand fisted in her hair and jerked her head back. His eyes were a thin ring of silver around a black pupil blown wide and bored into hers. “You consent?” he asked. “You have my permission to say no if you do not want this. I _order_ you to say no if you do not want it. I am not a rapist and you cannot consent unless you have the power to deny.”

He would let her say no even after she had initiated it. She had never had that right with a turian before. Even Sparatus had taken what he wanted. He ensured that she enjoyed it but she hadn’t had the right to turn him away. Saren was giving ownership of her own body back to her and she quickly considered his question. Sex with turians wasn’t unpleasant when they weren’t trying to be sadistic. It wasn’t going to hurt her to do this and it would help him. He was hurting and that was not a state she associated with Saren Arterius. She could take that hurt away. He had taken hers when she’d been lost in grief over Ash and Kaidan. She wanted to return the favor. More than that, she had enjoyed hearing his groan when she’d licked him. 

“I consent,” she said and took him into her mouth again. 

He held her head still with his hand in her hair and she felt his talons scrape lightly over her scalp as he began to thrust and then drew her head forward to meet him. He was larger than the others she’d been with and she had to work to relax her jaw enough to take him comfortably. Then he was nudging the back of her throat and she had to focus on not gagging around him. 

“Spirits,” he groaned. “Take it, Shepard. Relax your throat and take it.” He moved more slowly now and she forced her throat to relax. _Like drinking a shot,_ she told herself as the head of his cock slid over the back of her tongue and into her throat. His breathing grew audible and ragged and she felt him pulse once inside of her mouth before he withdrew. He allowed her a moment to breathe and then pushed forward again, deeper this time. She placed her hands on his hips for balance as she focused on taking him as deep as he wanted. She felt like she was trying to swallow his cock. 

The sensation wasn’t lessened when he said, “I can see myself in your throat.” Her lungs began to burn for air and he withdrew again so that she could breathe. “Deep breath this time,” he ordered and she obeyed before he slid back down her throat and held himself there. His hand stroked along the line of her throat, outlining the shape of himself and making her reflexively begin to choke. He groaned and said, “Relax. I will let you breathe in a moment. I could fuck your throat all night and fill your belly with my seed. This is…exquisite. Watching you like this, yearning for breath that only I can give…do you feel my ownership of you, Shepard?”

To her utter surprise, she felt herself grow damp as her nails scraped over his hips and she moaned with what little air she could move. His hand tightened and he pushed deeper before quickly pulling out of her. She heaved in great, gasping breaths and he allowed her to take them. When she was recovered, he said, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, sir,” she gasped. “I belong to you.”

“Good girl,” he said. “Open and take it all this time.”

She did as he bid and he thrust slowly into her mouth again. For all that his body still vibrated with tension and he had warned that he would hurt her, he was being incredibly cautious. He was riding the edge with her but it was clear that his intention was to do so without pushing her over it. The thought was more arousing than it should have been and she groaned again as his thick base slid past her lips and he pressed her face up against his groin plates. His eyes locked on hers as he began a series of quick, shallow thrusts and his hand wrapped loosely around her throat. Her lungs were beginning to burn and her hands tightened on his hip spurs as her eyes started to water. She needed air but it wasn’t desperate yet. 

She was wetter than she could ever remember being. If he left her like this…. The thought was cut off by a deep thrust as his hand tightened almost imperceptibly and her body screamed for oxygen as her throat convulsed in an involuntary effort to expel him. He groaned loudly as his fist clenched in her hair and he pulsed inside of her throat. She imagined that she could feel his hot cum shooting down into her belly and her nails raked over his hide as he hooked his foot between her legs and she silently screamed out the orgasm that slammed into her.

He jerked out of her and held her by the shoulders as she gasped for air. Her throat burned from the stretch of his intrusion and her lungs ached but bliss still flowed through her veins. She’d never considered herself a masochist before but there was no denying that she’d just gotten off on that. She looked up at him in a daze as he lifted her from the floor and carried her from the room. “Do you still consent?” he asked.

“Yes,” she croaked out in a hoarse voice. “I don’t know…if I can…do that again…just yet, though.”

“It is not the inside of your throat I intend to explore now,” he said as he carried her into the bedroom and ordered her to strip and lie down. 

He was all lean, fluid grace and predatory intent as he stalked up her body and ran his tongue up the length of her throat. He wrapped her thighs around his waist and settled himself against her entrance. He was so much taller than she that he had to prop himself almost upright in order to have his face over hers but he did so as he began to slide into her. He was still large even for a turian and huge compared to a human male but the combination of their lubrications and her own pliability due to arousal granted him a relatively easy entrance, at least at first. 

He angled up so that he was hitting the spot above her cervix rather than the cervix itself, for which she was grateful, and began to thrust slowly, working himself deeper into her. She gripped his waist tightly and brought her hands up to his chest as she moved with him. A glance down at him told her that he wasn’t even close to being entirely inside of her and she didn’t know if she had anywhere else for him to go. He seemed determined to fit himself into her even though he was already filling her. She moaned at the thought of him stretching her to fit him. 

She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently. His eyes flickered from her face to her groin and back again and the knowledge that he was watching himself fuck her made her toes curl. He rolled his hips and brushed the pad of his thumb over her clit and she arched up into him with a moaned, “Oh, please, Saren!”

“Please what?” he asked as he thrust deeper into her, working himself closer to the hilt.

“Please, sir,” she gasped, correcting herself.

“No,” he said. “Though I do enjoy the sound of that. What do you want, Shepard?”

“More,” she answered, using her legs to pull him in further. “Deeper. Harder.”

“Patience, Shepard,” he said. “I am attempting to ensure you do not leave this bed broken but merely used.”

She mewled as she tightened her legs again and rolled up into him, taking him deeper. She felt his wide, thick base press against her. Only Talid had ever managed to get the base in and that had been because he hadn’t cared whether he hurt her or not. Vyrnnus had never touched her sexually and Septimus hadn’t precisely cared if she’d enjoyed it or not but he’d tried not to make it more traumatic than it had to be. A part of her was nervous about taking the base as it had only ever been painful but she could feel her body stretching to accommodate him and saw his mandibles loosen as his hands clenched in the sheets beside her head. His low rumble of arousal was a full-on growl now and he seemed to be fighting the urge to simply slam into her and be done with it. She knew that was where the majority of his nerve endings were—an evolutionary development to encourage tying with fertile females—and thought that he was likely actively working for his control.

He reached the widest part of the base and the rest slid in relatively easily. He was locked inside of her now until her body relaxed again to allow him to move but that didn’t stop him from slamming into her hard even if he couldn’t fully draw back yet. She cried out and her nails raked down his chest and over his waist. “Oh, fuck, Shepard!” he shouted and she saw his control snap. He released the sheets and gripped her hips tightly, pressing his talons against her skin until they left indentations but somehow managing not to bury them in her, and began to thrust hard and fast. She bowed up into him and braced her feet against his spurs as he fully withdrew and then slammed into her again and again. 

“Oh, god, Saren, please,” she moaned. “Oh, yes. Right there. Oh, fuck.” 

He released her hip and locked a hand around her throat, applying just enough pressure to add to the excitement, before leaning down and saying in a low, growling voice, “I am going to ruin you, Shepard. No one else will satisfy you when I am through with you. You will beg me to gift you with my cock, to fuck you hard, and when you return to your people, you will remember me and want.”

Dirty talk was not something she would have expected from Saren Arterius but damn if he wasn’t as good at that as he was at everything else. He pulled out of her and flipped her onto her knees before shoving himself roughly inside of her again. He allowed her only a moment to adjust to the new position before drawing her back flush against his chest with one of his hands still around her throat and the other over her abdomen as he pounded into her. 

Her arm came up and around his neck and he snarled and dipped his head to scrape his teeth over her shoulder as her fingers brushed against his biotic amp ports. It hadn’t been deliberate the first time but when she saw his reaction, she did it again. He threw his head back, pressing his neck further into her hand, and slammed her down onto his cock. In this position, it felt like getting fucked by a dreadnought and she imagined that she could feel the head of him pressing against her throat from the underside this time. She moaned loudly and tensed around him as her orgasm crashed over her once more. The pulsations of her body triggered his and he buried himself in her as the hand on her abdomen slid over to grip her hip and his talons dug into her skin.

They collapsed forward together and he evidently had enough presence of mind left to keep himself from letting his full weight fall onto her because he caught himself on his elbow. She could feel their chests heaving and when his met hers, she could feel his heart pounding against his plates. She was clamped tightly around him from her orgasm and he seemed content to remain as he was. She remembered Sparatus and Septimus gripping their bases tightly for a few minutes after they came and supposed it gave either some pleasure or relief from sensitivity for them or simulated the sensation of tying in. She had mistaken it for intimacy the first time it had happened but had quickly learned the difference. Now, she just waited for his erection to go down and withdraw behind his plates again. 

Before it did, though, he propped himself up further on his elbow and she felt his talons trace her back. “What are these?” he asked in a tight voice.

“My scars?” she asked, struggling to put coherent thought together. His motion had pushed him deeper into her and had sparked her fading orgasm again.

“Yes,” he said. “These are from a turian. Who did this to you? Was it Septimus?”

“No, sir,” she mumbled into the pillow. “Talid and Vyrnnus. Can we not talk about this right now? I haven’t felt this good in a long time.” She winced at the admission. Orgasms always had loosened her tongue.

He tensed, moving himself inside her again and she moaned. He chuckled and said, “I suppose,” and began moving slowly this time. Her fists clenched in the sheets as he drew her orgasm out and her body began to tremble from the overload of sensation. When it finally stopped, he dropped onto his side and withdrew from her in a rush of fluid. He made a sound like disappointment and then she felt him tense again. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No,” he said tightly. “That, ah, doesn’t happen with turian females. They absorb fluids. How do your females ever breed if you expel all of it?”

“It’s not all of it,” she said without looking at him. “It doesn’t take much for human females. A drop can do it. Is that a problem?” None of her previous owners had seemed to care.

“Hm. No,” he answered. “I suppose not. Now, tell me about the scars.”

She sighed and rolled onto her back with her arm across her face. She didn’t want to see his expression. He sounded…angry or revolted or something unpleasant. She said, “The talons are Talid. The burns are Vyrnnus. The brand is Sparatus’. Apparently, all of us have one.”

“Brand?” he asked, rolling her back over onto her stomach. She felt his talon trace the scar and heard his rumble of displeasure. “That is not a Hierarchy brand,” he said tightly. “That is his family’s crest. He marked you as his own.”

“I was, at the time,” she said and peeked out to see his mandibles drawn tightly to his face. “Why is it a problem?”

“You are _mine_ ,” he snarled. “You should not bear someone else’s mark. If you are found somewhere, you will be returned to him and still legally considered his property. I could not get you back without his consent.” 

“So take it off,” she said. “Humans have technology to remove scar tissue. I’m sure that if we do, the salarians do as well.”

“I’m going to,” he said. “You will receive an omni-tattoo with my mark. It is removable when you return to your people but until then, you will be marked as mine so that if something happens to you, you will be returned to me. This is not negotiable, Shepard.”

“Master,” she said, sensing he needed to hear the title, “it’s fine. I’m not going to argue or protest.”

“Good,” he said. “I want you to have the others removed as well. There is no need for you to bear a reminder of past pain. Look at me, Shepard.” She turned to face him and he took her jaw in his hand. “You will _never_ be abused like that again. I promise you.” His eyes fell to her throat and he traced the scar with his fingertip, careful to avoid touching it with his talon. “Never again,” he repeated.

She felt her eyes burn and her throat clench as warmth flooded through her. Of all of the people to care about what had been done to her, Saren Arterius was the last one she would have expected. Impulsively, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He froze in place and then gradually softened against her. His hand moved to slide into her hair and his lips parted. She’d never seen turians kiss before but she was sure he’d seen asari do it so he knew what it was. He clearly didn’t know exactly what he was doing but he let her guide him and what had started as a peck on the lips to express her gratitude deepened into tongues sliding against each other and her moving to straddle his waist as she stroked the underside of his long, uneven fringe. He groaned and said, “Unless you are prepared to take me again, you should stop now.”

She wanted to but his words called attention to the throbbing between her legs. A glance down showed her that the insides of her thighs were chafed and she knew from experience that a second round would be painful until that was treated. He nodded as if expecting that and set her on the bed again. He rose and left the room before coming back with a packet of medigel. She expected him to simply hand it to her but he opened it himself and pushed her down onto her back. “Let me,” he said. “I did it. I will fix it.” His hands were surprisingly gentle as he smoothed the medicated gel onto her hips and thighs. He looked up at her and said, “Thank you, Shepard. For easing my tension. The mission was…unpleasant.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He tossed the empty packet into the trash disposal unit and laid down next to her on his side. “I found their holding facility,” he said. “Hanar, salarians, turians, asari, even other batarians. I had been shot and my hand was not as steady as it normally is. The guards heard me hacking the door. They killed all of the slaves. And that, unlike your experience, was my fault. Had I been more cautious, I would not have been wounded and those people would have been saved. I was supposed to rescue them. I failed my mission.”

She traced her fingers lightly along the edge of his bandage and said, “Did you kill the slavers?” 

“Yes,” he answered.

“All of them?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Then you didn’t entirely fail,” she said. “You prevented others from being captured. It’s just unfortunate that those were the sacrifice to do so.”

“There were hundreds of them, Shepard,” he said. “Innocents. I don’t…I am not used to _feeling_ anything. I don’t think I like it.”

“What changed?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said and looked away. “You, maybe.”

“Me?” she asked, surprised.

He said slowly, “I looked at them…and I saw you.”


	7. Chapter 7

Saren tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the salarian doctor to finish with Shepard. Knowing that the procedure was non-invasive did not help his unease. He didn’t like her being out of his sight with someone else. He had attempted to insist on remaining with her but the doctor had ushered him out with promises not to damage his property or allow her to escape. He wished those were his concerns. They should be his only concerns. He should not be worrying about whether or not the doctor was hurting her. 

His human—it was more palatable to think of her species when he added the possessive pronoun to it—had gotten to him in ways he had not expected. In many ways, she was like him. She was the first person since Nihlus to see him and accept it. Even Benezia tried to change him. Shepard and Nihlus didn’t. It was the reason he still called Nihlus friend and one of the reasons that Shepard had earned some measure of loyalty from him as well. She was just as ruthless as he was when the situation called for it. She was smart and strong and courageous. She was calm under pressure and she seemed to almost read his mind at times. 

She was also surprisingly attractive for a human, a trait that grew each time that he took her. He was becoming obsessed with her strange human body. The things that she could do with it were astounding. She had no reservations and not only allowed him to do whatever he wished with her, she enjoyed it. He would have written that off as her humoring him but the scent of her arousal and the way her pulse beat in her pale throat and her eyes dilated when he was inside of her told him her reactions were genuine. If nothing else, the force of her orgasms could not be faked. He prided himself on excellence in whatever he did and that extended to sex but never before had he found himself caring about his partner’s enjoyment the way he did hers. 

It wasn’t just the bedroom in which he enjoyed her. He had always been solitary and he liked that they could be in the same room together doing separate things and she was entirely content. He liked the way that she’d taken to leaning up against his leg when she sat at his feet and the way her eyes closed when he trailed his talons through her hair. He liked talking to her and that was perhaps the most surprising thing of all. 

He hadn’t thought that a human could possibly be a good conversationalist but she was. She was knowledgeable about a wide range of topics and those that she wasn’t, she was quick to learn. If she discovered something that interested him that she didn’t have knowledge of, she would request a book or an article or for him to explain it himself and she educated herself on it so that she could discuss it with him. She had no qualms about admitting when she didn’t know or understand something and he’d found only a few areas in which she seemed to be unteachable. Mathematics, for example, were not her strong suit but she was a whiz with tech, which made no sense to him. If she had her hands on something, she could do whatever she wanted with it. Give her theory or numbers on a screen and she stumbled. She tried, though, and he had yet to hear her tell him that she couldn’t do something. 

He had to release her. He knew that. It didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to. He never would have believed even a few months ago that he would find a human he didn’t want to kill, much less that he would find one about whom he cared. He mentally joked about loving her when she would let her ruthless side out to play but it was no joke that he felt something for her that he had never before experienced and he didn’t know what to do with it, especially when given the knowledge that he was going to have to let her go. 

The doors opened and she walked out, accompanied by the doctor. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine, sir,” she answered. “A little tender but otherwise all right.”

The doctor looked up at him and said, “Tenderness normal. Skin will be hypersensitive for a day or two. Might want to use oil on plates to prevent chafing. Could cause further scarring until healed. No teeth or talons for one week. Marks will be painful and could affect efficacy of skin weave.”

“Skin weave?” Shepard asked, looking up at him. “I thought that was just a scar removal.”

She had been sedated so he wasn’t surprised. “Your skin is too delicate,” he said. “I do not want you harmed. A heavy skin weave seemed to be the appropriate solution. Any further marks or scars on your body will be deliberate and with your consent.”

“Did they really bother you that much?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered. The sight of the scars that covered her body had infuriated him. He had been too lost in the feel of her body during the act to pay attention to the marks on her skin but when he’d noticed them, he’d been enraged. He’d wanted to kill the men who’d hurt her. He’d wanted to kill Sparatus for daring to brand her. He’d wanted to rip limb from limb every person who’d put their hands on her and caused her harm. 

They hadn’t been limited to her back. When he had finally examined her, he’d seen them covering the rest of her and they were brutal. She had not been facetious when she’d said she’d been tortured. She had not been joking when she’d spoken of dying again and again. His methods could rightfully be called brutal but he abhorred abuse and torture for the sake of torture. Sadistic bastards like the ones who’d hurt her made him sick. He was relieved to know that the reminders of that were gone. She didn’t need to look down her body and see them. That time was over and he would ensure that it never happened again. He couldn’t keep her but he was a Spectre. He would find a way to keep her safe even if it meant going to Earth when the war was over to check up on her himself. 

She brought a hand up to cup his mandible and the gesture was so unexpected that he could do little more than stare down at her. When she would have withdrawn, he took her hand in his and pressed his lip plates to her knuckles. He was glad that she was all right and back in his presence. He missed her when they were apart. He worried about her when she was at the apartment alone. He spent far too much of his travel time watching the vid feed from the apartment. 

Her actions were not that different from when he was there but he’d learned that she was fond of music and that she had a tendency to play it when he wasn’t home. She kept the radio on almost constantly and he’d even seen her dancing in the kitchen as she cooked her breakfast once. She was a terrible dancer but she’d been wearing nothing but one of his shirts and that had made him want to turn around and head directly back to the Citadel so he could take her then and there even if the fit of it was wrong for her body. He’d also learned that she liked to sing. She didn’t do it when he was home but when she was alone, she would sing to herself and _that_ she could do well. He enjoyed learning new things about her and simply wished that she felt free to do them around him. He appreciated and liked her subservience but he also liked her snark and her wit and her spontaneity. 

Beside her, the salarian doctor said, “Interesting. Human is slave. Turian is master. Human-turian relations strained. Arterius notorious human-hater. Should be enemies. Subvocals, bonding pheromones imply otherwise. Human biometrics consistent with asari reactions to bonding hormones. Not one-sided. Genuine affection. Would like to study further.”

“No,” Saren said. He drew Shepard to him and escorted her from Huerta Memorial and out to the skycar. He wanted to get her home. He wanted to take her now. The doctor had said that chafing could harm her and he didn’t have oils to soften his plates. He did, however, have clothing. He slid the seat back as far as it would go and pulled her astride his lap. “You are okay, right?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” he said and drew her to him. 

She was so short that even in his lap, they were only barely level with each other so he didn’t have far to go. Her lips met his and he felt them part as her tongue traced the edges of his lip plates. Her arms wrapped around his cowl and he felt her fingertips trace the back of his neck. He’d never allowed a lover to touch him there or his throat. The amount of trust required to allow someone access to his spine ridge was slightly less than his throat—and didn’t come with the same connotations of submission or surrender, though it was sometimes reminiscent of being scruffed by his mother as a fledgling when done by someone other than Shepard—but it was still significant. The row of plates lining his spine protected it but they could be easily dug under and his spine ripped out. It was a favorite method among both krogans and other turians. However, he didn’t mind it when it was her. He trusted her not to kill him now and damn if he didn’t enjoy the way her fingers would trace his amp ports. He’d never realized just how sensitive those were until she’d discovered it. The night before, he had allowed her to lick around them and he’d thought he would come just from that bit of contact.

His hands traveled beneath her shirt, careful to keep his talons away from the temporarily delicate skin, and he trailed them over her trim waist and her ribcage. He’d learned that brushing his thumbs along the sides of her breasts could make her gasp and cupping them in his hands or running his thumbs over her nipples made her moan and arch her back, accentuating her waist. He wasn’t particularly fond of breasts. Turian women had them but they were more of a vestigial organ from a time before turians had been born capable of eating solid food than anything else and both males and females tended to ignore them. Hers, however, were a definite erogenous zone and he might not care for the breasts themselves but he enjoyed her reactions. 

Her hands with their too-many and too-soft fingers drifted along the underside of his fringe, sending heat spearing through his body. It was still amazing to him both that she could ignite this reaction in him and that she didn’t seem to care that his fringe was uneven or that his zygomatic plates were overgrown or that he was too tall and too lean and too pale and uniform in color to be considered truly attractive by his own people’s standards. His Spectre status and notoriety ensured that he didn’t want for release even from truly stunning turian women when he desired it but he knew that they wouldn’t have looked twice at him without that and their eyes didn’t linger on his form. 

Shepard at least seemed to enjoy his appearance. He’d caught her looking at him on more than one occasion when she didn’t think he’d noticed and she had developed a habit of trailing her fingers over his chest when they were lying together after sex. She liked his voice, too, and that was almost as astounding as his people generally considered it untrustworthy due to his habit of suppressing his subvocals, a habit that had apparently begun to fade around her if even the salarian had picked up on it. He was going to have to work on that. It wouldn’t do for people to find out that his feelings for his little human slave had gone beyond anything proper or appropriate. She liked them, though, so he decided not to worry about it now. 

Her nails scraped along his fringe when she felt the rumble in his chest that clearly stated his desire for her to anyone who understood it. She might not be turian and might not have the instinctive understanding of exactly what it meant but she’d picked up on enough to know that it meant he wanted her and she responded to that desire. One of her hands trailed down over his chest and slid across his waist before dipping down to slide over his exposed erection. Some days he felt like his plates would never stay fully closed when she was around. 

He grabbed her by the waist and turned her so that her back was to him and unbuttoned her cargo pants. She rolled her hips up into his touch when his hand slid into her waistband. Her head fell back onto his shoulder and her hands gripped the sides of his thighs as he slipped a finger through her wetness and into her. He was still astounded by the level of trust she afforded him. He could and usually did retract his talons as he wouldn’t file them down even for her but even when he left them exposed, she trusted him not to harm her. There were times when he did so deliberately just for the thrill. This was not one of those times, though. He wouldn’t risk a jolt of the skycar causing him to puncture or tear her insides. 

He loved the way her passage gripped his finger and couldn’t believe that she could take him so fully when she clung to a finger so tightly. Her flexibility was one of the things he adored about her. She rocked against his hand and began to make the small, needy mewling noises in her throat that told him she was coming close to completion. He wanted her to find it with him, so he withdrew his finger and tugged her pants down so that her ass was exposed to him. “In the car?” she asked.

“I don’t want to wait,” he answered.

“People can see,” she said. She wasn’t arguing. She was just pointing out a fact. He leaned forward and tapped a command into the interface. A moment later, the windows went dark. He didn’t care if people saw him or even if they saw him with her. That didn’t mean that he wanted all and sundry to be able to see her. She was his, not theirs. 

She relaxed back into him again and lifted her hips so that he could unfasten his own pants. She groaned when he drew her down onto him and he answered with one of his own. She was so slick and hot and pliable around him. He loved feeling her body stretch to take him in, loved knowing that he rearranged her to fit him and she let him. That first slide into her was always the best because there was enough resistance to make it clear what was happening internally. She’d stretched just enough to be able to take his base and he pulled her down onto it, savoring that first slight pop as she conformed around him again. 

He could seat himself in her and fuck her without ever withdrawing from her body. The sensation of her locked around his base was enough for him and he knew it drove her wild because it gave her just enough to bring her close but not enough to grant her completion. He loved seeing her like that with her head thrown back, baring her throat for him, and her body writhing around him as she begged and pleaded with him to give her what she needed. He loved the look of desperation in her eyes when he refused her and forced her to remain on that edge, sometimes for hours, before allowing her to go over. She was so responsive that it was easy to tease her and that had become one of his favorite pastimes. 

He didn’t have the time for that now but the car allowed for very limited mobility, so he moved her on him as his finger stroked the little nub above her entrance. She reached up and anchored herself on his collar and braced her feet on the floor, allowing her slightly more control and he sat back against the seat and watched as she fucked herself on his cock. He only wished that she was naked while he was clothed so that the power difference—which he was honest enough with himself to admit that he savored—was more apparent. 

He contented himself with hooking a talon through the ring on her collar and tugging enough to put pressure on her throat. That was another thing that he loved. In spite of—he hoped not because of—the things she’d been through, she still got off on the threat of death by his hands. She had told him that it turned her on to know that he could easily kill her but wouldn’t do it. Her trust in him turned him on just as much. He loved seeing how far he could push her and that he hadn’t yet found a limit to how far she would let him go that wasn’t set by her own physical limitations. She would allow him to take her just up to the point of harm where he chose to stop because he didn’t want to damage her and that was a heady amount of power to have granted consensually.

She rode him harder with the pressure on her throat and he used the arm banded around her waist to shove himself deeper inside of her. Feeling his plates slap against her ass was another of his favorite things. She wasn’t designed to take him at all but she did so completely. The skycar was filled with the sounds of her steady moans and his rumbling expressions of desire, affection, and need. He felt his release drawing close and it was a good thing as they were approaching the Strip. He wished she was in a dress. He would make her walk from the car to the apartment with his seed running down her legs. He didn’t want others to see her in the act of being taken but he did not mind at all if they saw the aftermath. 

He thrust into her hard enough that she placed a hand against the roof of the vehicle to prevent her face from hitting it and she cried out his name as she tightened around him. Heat exploded in his belly as he shot his seed deep into her body and she convulsed around him, still calling his name. After a long moment, she relaxed back into him and turned her head to nuzzle the underside of his throat. He froze with his arms tight around her in reflexive response as centuries of instincts flooded him, demanding that he protect her and keep her safe despite the absence of any real threat. Warmth bloomed in his chest and he pressed his lips to the top of her head, ignoring the strands of her hair that always seemed determined to tangle around his mandibles. Spirits, he was fucked. He really did love her.


	8. Chapter 8

Shepard irritably changed the radio station as yet another annoying asari club mix came on. It wasn’t just the radio, though. Everything today was irritating her. Saren had been gone for two weeks and she didn’t know when he was coming back. She shouldn’t be wishing for his return. She was his slave. He owned her. His absences were the only times when she could even pretend that she was free. She typically enjoyed them. This time, though, she found herself waiting for him to walk in the door even in the absence of the message he usually sent when the _Desolate_ docked letting her know to prepare his tea and his meal. She missed him and that was insane. It had to be. 

If she missed him, then it meant that she cared about him and caring about him would only lead to heartache. She was going to be released in a couple more months. He’d told her that the talks between the Hierarchy, Alliance, and Council were progressing and deals were being made. It was going to take some time to iron out the final details but, unless one of the parties drew out of the negotiations, the war would be over soon. She would return to Earth and the Alliance and…somewhere…after that. She hadn’t really allowed herself to think that far ahead. She would cross that bridge when she came to it. Thinking about her freedom now got tied up not only in her guilt over her unit but her feelings for Saren. 

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. He hated her kind. He didn’t care about her beyond what she did for him. He might be fond of her as Sparatus was but even that was a stretch. He enjoyed her body and treated her more like a lover than a slave when they were together in that way, even going so far as to keep her in his bed most nights with his arm around her, but that didn’t change the fact that he owned her. She was just a possession to him. And when she wasn’t anymore, he would stop caring at all and would forget her. He’d been right that first time that she would remember him and want. She already did. He had turned her into a sex fiend and now she couldn’t even provide her own completion because her body longed for his. But he wouldn’t want her. She was just a place for him to stick his dick.

She turned the music off and turned the vid screen on. He had started granting her access to the Citadel extranet and to the news channels even when he was away. She knew that he could—and probably did—monitor her access. It wasn’t just a possessive thing. She knew that she was partially a job to him. She was a valuable trading piece even if she hadn’t accomplished her mission and he was responsible for making sure she stayed that way. That meant ensuring that the Alliance didn’t find a way to get their hands on her before the talks were complete and the deals were made. 

There was a biotiball competition on the screen and she turned the volume up so that she could hear it in the kitchen as she washed the dishes from her breakfast. Saren wasn’t particularly a fan of the sport but he’d explained its rules to her and had even demonstrated some of the techniques that were used. It was like basketball only with biotics and was familiar enough to her to be enjoyable on a normal day and distracting on this one. It would at least pass the time.

She hated feeling this way. Even if she was free and they were partners rather than a slave and her owner, she wouldn’t want to feel like this. She wasn’t cut out to be a military spouse. She admired and respected the men and women who held down the fort at home while their partners were out for months on end but she was too restless for that. She wanted to be out there, too. She envied Saren the ability to go out and fight and do things to better his people and the galaxy. She missed being a soldier. Saren had mentioned taking her out with him on a mission at some point and she decided that she was going to agree. It would at least get her out in the field again. She was back in shape and better than she had been before with his instruction. She’d been surprised at how patient and thorough he was at teaching. He was good at it. His protégés were some of the most highly decorated Spectres in the galaxy for a reason. Very few people could live up to his high standards but those who did were fortunate to have him as a teacher. 

She put away the last of the dishes and then threw herself behind the counter as the front door blew open with a deafening roar. She was moving even before she registered what had happened. She didn’t have armor but Saren had also begun allowing her to wear her omni-tool chip when he was away and kept the rifle and pistol he’d keyed to her DNA in the work room with the rest of his weapons. She boosted her shields and used the counters as cover as she ran to the back of the apartment. In the front, one of his traps activated and she heard glass shatter as booted feet ran into the entryway. She tried to count them as she made her way to the work room but there were too many. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, heightening her senses, and she grabbed the pistol—the quarters were too close for the rifle unless she could get upstairs to the balcony and she doubted she’d be able to do that—and activated her omni-tool. Her fingers flew over the haptic keyboard, sending a message to Saren. _S.O.S. Apt under attack. Batarians._

“VI,” she whispered as she moved into the space beside the doorway and peeked out. “Call C-Sec. Report an invasion. Silent acknowledgment.”

The light beside the door blinked red and she activated her omni-tool again as the first of the batarians moved into her line of sight. She had a doorway and a hall for cover and to funnel her targets. Saren had ensured that the walls were reinforced and a bullet couldn’t get through them so she was relatively safe as long as she could keep them out of the room. She reminded herself that she’d held off three platoons of turian soldiers alone. She could hold off a group of batarians until C-Sec arrived to back her up. Saren was likely too far away to be any help but he would come as soon as he could.

She threw a fireball down the hallway, catching the first pair. They screamed and stumbled back, falling to the floor to roll in an attempt to extinguish the burning plasma. Another pair pushed past them, firing into the doorway. She ducked back against the wall and waited for a break in fire. Their weapons would either overheat or overload their heat sinks depending on the type. She just had to be patient and stay calm. When she heard the whine signifying an overheat, she leaned back out and fired, taking them down. Another pair appeared behind them and she took them out, too. 

At this rate, the bodies littering the floor were going to create another barrier. She wasn’t complaining. She took down another with a clean shot between his four eyes and threw out another plasma ball. She wished she’d figured out how to deploy turrets or a drone. A turret in the hallway would be a godsend right about now. As if she’d summoned it for the other side, she leaned out and saw an engineer kneeling down to set up a turret. She took him out and then disabled the turret itself for good measure before ducking back in. She told herself not to wish for a drone. Her wishes at the moment seemed to be turning themselves on her. She’d wished for a firefight and one had come to her while she was barefoot and unarmed in the kitchen. She’d wished for a turret and the damn batarians had set it up. She definitely needed to not wish for an M-920 Cain. Even thinking about it made her blood run cold. The good news there was that they couldn’t fire one in here without taking themselves out, too. 

She replaced her heat sink and leaned back out to fire on the next wave. A slug bounced off of her shield and it flickered. She ducked back to let it recharge. She couldn’t risk it falling. She was dressed in only a camisole and a pair of shorts. She might as well be naked without her shield. Not for the first time, she wished she was a biotic. Saren could take out all of these assholes with his flare. 

Adrenaline was a hell of a thing. She was afraid, sure. She’d be an idiot not to be. She was vastly outnumbered, unarmored, and armed only with a pistol and an omni-tool. But at the same time, her blood was singing and her senses were sharp. Perfect clarity surrounded her. There was another explosion, this time in the living room, and she realized that her wish for Saren had at least sort of come true. “Thank you, sir,” she said as she leaned out and fired on another batarian. He wasn’t here but he wasn’t in the field, either. Wherever he was, he’d activated the cameras and was using his remote connection to detonate the traps he’d set up around the apartment. Suddenly, she thought his security measures weren’t as paranoid and overdone as she’d thought. If anything, they could use some improvement if a rocket launcher was the only thing needed to get through the front door. She almost laughed at that because who but a Spectre could ever expect people with a rocket launcher to break in?

Another explosion rocked the apartment and she began to wonder where C-Sec was. It was taking far too long for them to get here, especially considering that the neighbors had to hear the war going on in here even with the soundproofing. The front door was a gaping hole. That kind of negated whatever he’d put in the walls. She leaned out and fired again, taking three down this time before ducking quickly back. Another engineer had set up while she was replacing her heat sink and this time, he’d gotten the turret activated. Her shields alone weren’t strong enough for turret fire. She was going to have to find another option. She arced a fireball around the doorway and heard the turret stutter as it hit. It wasn’t enough to take it down, though. 

Her omni-tool pinged and she looked down at it in disbelief. This was _not_ the time for someone to be messaging her. Of course, the only person who had her contact information was Saren, so she figured it was important enough to look. The message read simply, ‘Overload.’ The turret was shielded. That was why her plasma ball hadn’t worked. She called up an overload and stuck her hand out of the doorway to deploy it. The turret stuttered again and this time, stopped for a moment as the shields fell. She took the opportunity to lean out and throw another fireball at it before shooting it until her heat sink was done. At least the turret had served to keep the batarians out of the hallway. She reloaded and leaned out again as they came pouring down. This time, they’d decided to come en masse in a single rush. She took a deep breath and forced herself not to fire wildly into the group. Every shot had to count because the Carnifex was a powerful weapon but had a limited capacity and she didn’t have time to reload again. 

She placed her shots carefully and the batarians went down but more were coming. How many of them were there? Had they sent an army? How had they gotten into the tower in the first place? Batarians didn’t belong here. Tiberius Towers were very exclusive and only Council races were allowed to live here. She was only allowed because of Saren. Someone would have said something or alerted security unless they were either dead or paid off. She didn’t think there was enough money in the world to bribe the guards into letting a troop of batarians into the Towers where Saren Arterius lived. That meant they were dead. 

She fired again and again, willing the pistol to stay active as they continued to pour down the hallway, leaping over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Her eyes widened as another pushed to the front with his hand raised. She leaped behind the wall and curled into a ball with her arms over her head as he threw the grenade into the room. The explosion made her ears ring and she felt debris and shrapnel bounce off of her shields and then her bare skin as her shield fell. Pieces of the ceiling dropped down on top of her and she batted them away, attempting to ignore the burning in her arm and the hot slickness of the blood running down it to drip off of her elbow. Her head was spinning and she couldn’t see anything but white. Flashbang. She turned to place the wall against her back and raised the pistol but as her vision began to clear, a shadowy figure appeared in front of her. She pulled the trigger and something slammed hard into her temple and the world went from white to black in an instant.


	9. Chapter 9

Saren roared as he saw the butt of the batarian’s rifle slam into Shepard’s head and watched her fall limply to the floor. The batarians cheered and one kicked her in the ribs before another picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Saren’s fist hit the desk hard enough to dent the metal and he demanded, “ETA to the Citadel!”

“Four hours,” the very illegal AI he had installed in the ship responded. “Prepare for first relay jump.”

Four hours was too long. They would be long gone with her by then. He activated his comm and when Sparatus appeared, he said, “The batarians have Shepard. Lock down the Citadel and have C-Sec monitoring all cameras from the Silversun Strip. I don’t care what you do but _find her_.”

He saw Sparatus tap commands into his console as the councilor said, “How did the batarians get Shepard?”

“They raided my apartment,” he snarled. “She fought back but they came in force. They have her and they are leaving the Towers now. Track them.”

“I am,” Sparatus said. “They are in a shuttle. I am actively monitoring their progress. It appears they are heading to Bachjaret Ward. They…shit.”

“What?” Saren shouted.

“The shuttle’s signature just disappeared,” the councilor answered. “How the hell did they get a stealth system on a shuttle?”

“Worry about that later,” Saren demanded. “Find her!” 

“The ward arms are closing,” Sparatus said. “I have no record of any vehicle breaking artificial atmosphere. They’re still here. Somewhere. We just have to locate them.”

“Do it,” he growled. “I am on my way. Ensure that my ship has clearance.”

“Done,” Sparatus said.

Far too many hours later, Saren ran into the Citadel tower. He pushed past asari and volus alike without regard to their diplomatic status. He tried to tell himself that his urgency was due to the political fallout that would occur if Shepard was lost but he knew it was a lie. He wasn’t thinking like a Spectre at the moment. He was thinking like a turian who’d lost his mate. He came to an abrupt halt and ducked into an alcove to collect himself. He had to focus. For her. He was no good to her if he was panicked and running on instinct. He _had_ to think like a Spectre if he wanted to save her and that meant he didn’t have time for emotion. He slowed his breathing and his heart rate and made his steps swift and purposeful as he strode into the councilor’s office. 

Sparatus was waiting for him and Saren was relieved that he’d managed to get his subvocals locked down. The councilor would pick up on them in an instant and would probably remove Shepard from his care when she was found for fear that he would refuse to let her go. He didn’t care what people would think of him for bonding to a human. He didn’t care what Desolas would have thought or what he himself would have thought only months before. He did care that she could be taken from him before she had to be even if he managed to find and rescue her. 

Sparatus said, “We have narrowed her location down to Bachjaret Ward. They split into separate groups when they arrived. Three went into the keeper tunnels. One went into the markets. Another went into the slums. We aren’t sure which one she’s with but I would bet she’s with one of the ones in the keeper tunnels.” 

“Give me the locations of the groups in the markets and the slums,” he said. He would find them and find out from them. They would tell him where they took her and then they would die screaming. 

Sparatus transferred the locations to him and promised to update him if they moved. The councilor looked at him and said, “Find her, Saren.” His mandibles slackened in shock. It was there in the subvocals if not the words. She’d gotten to Sparatus, too. The councilor nodded and said, “Find her and then love her enough to let her go when the time comes.”

“How…” he began and then realized that Sparatus must have heard it in his voice when he’d called. He hadn’t been focused on controlling his subvocals then and his fear for her had overridden his reserve. It was too late. Sparatus knew exactly what she meant to him. Fortunately, it didn’t seem that he intended to take her away before the war was over. He likely also knew that that was not going to happen. Saren nodded and strode out of the Tower.

He took a skycar to the apartment first. There were things he needed. C-Sec had finally arrived. Too late. He glared at them for their failure as he pushed past them and into the ruins of his apartment. The vids had prepared him for the damage but not enough. It looked like a war zone. The smell of blood and viscera mingled heavily in the air with the scent of smoke and charred building materials. The glass wall by the door had done its job. It had exploded outward when the VI noted intruders and had taken down half a dozen of them on its own. It had bought her the time to get to her weapon but it hadn’t been enough. The fireplace had exploded as well and there were another five bodies beside it. The coffeemaker had followed suit and two had fallen in the kitchen. 

He counted bodies as he stepped over them on his way to the remains of his workroom and felt a surge of pride in her. Thirty-seven batarians and two turrets. He had to pick his way carefully through the pile of corpses and he heard and felt the carpet squelch with blood under his boots. His girl had done exceedingly well. If C-Sec had been faster, she would have made it. If she’d had armor, she might have made it. If he had been here, she would have made it. Even he would have had trouble alone against this group but the two of them together could have taken them easily. She’d done extremely well with what she’d had to work with. If she was a member of a Council race, he would put her name forward for Spectre training for this alone.

His armor locker had survived the blast. He opened it and began to load the compartments in his armor with heat sinks, medigel, and grenades. He slipped knives into various slots and strapped a rocket launcher to his back. He wanted to choose the Cain but there were very few places it could be used on the Citadel without damaging the station and if he needed the Cain to get to her, she was likely dead anyway. That was a possibility he couldn’t contemplate and maintain his calm, so he pushed the thought away and exchanged his omni-tool chips to the most advanced one that he had. He also swapped out his biotic amps to the prototypes he’d acquired. They gave him a headache if he wore them regularly but he wouldn’t risk losing her because he’d had to wait for his amps to recharge.

When he walked back out of the apartment, he was a one-man army. His face reflected in the wide eyes of the salarian C-Sec agent was murderous. The salarian stepped back, giving him a wide berth, and he thought that was wise. In the mood he was in now, he was likely to kill someone simply for looking at him the wrong way. Finding a reason to kill when his human was in danger was going to be far too easy. He would rip this entire station apart if he had to in order to find her and, at the moment, he didn’t give a damn whether her absence affected the peace talks or not. He was going to find her because he was Spectre Saren Arterius and she was his and he had promised her that she would not experience the pain she’d been through again. 

His omni-tool pinged and he looked down to find a series of messages that took him aback. Nihlus was returning to the station. Jondam Bau and Tela Vasir were already on the station and offering their assistance. He climbed into his skycar and entered the coordinates for the slums and then sat back and responded to the messages. He wanted to tell Nihlus to turn back, that he could handle it on his own, but he knew that the two of them worked better together and he was beyond the point of pride. He simply sent him the address. He sent the address of the team in the markets to Vasir and the information on the teams in the keeper tunnels to Bau. Vasir was more intimidating and more likely to get answers while Bau was better at hunting and infiltration. 

The car arrived in the slums and he located the address of the rundown apartment to which the batarians had run. He entered the apartment with his pistol drawn and his fist glowing blue with his biotics. He shot the first person he saw and then cast a stasis at the ones who remained. “Where is she?” he snarled.

“We don’t know!” one of them shouted. “They left with her! Took her into the tunnels!”

“Where is she?” he asked again. He hated having to repeat himself. He turned to the one who looked the most confused and shot him. That one likely had no intel worth getting. 

“We don’t know!” the first one said again. “We were supposed to get her off the Citadel and back to Kar’Shan but they closed the arms and we couldn’t leave!”

“Shut up!” the second one ordered. 

“Do you know who he is?” the first one asked. “That’s Saren Arterius. We’re dead no matter what.”

“I know who he is, you idiot,” the second one said. 

“Do not make me ask again,” he snarled. “You know who I am. You know what I do to those who cross me and you have crossed me in the worst possible way. I am looking forward to torturing you.” With that, he walked over to the first one, the weaker link, and pressed his talon into his face below his eye. 

“I really don’t know,” the batarian said. “Jarok does, though.” 

“I am going to fuck your wife,” the second one told the first as Saren turned to him. “And then I’m going to kill her.”

“Jarok, I presume?” he said. “I’m afraid you won’t be raping or killing anyone.” He took the batarian’s hand in his own and bent the finger back until it snapped. “Tell me where she is or I will make you beg for death before I am finished with you.”

“Fuck you,” Jarok sneered.

Twenty minutes later—too long, his mind insisted—Saren turned, leaving the bodies where they lay. He used a discarded towel to wipe the worst of the blood off of his armor—it wouldn’t do to scare the civilians—and left the apartment. Nihlus was waiting in the doorway. 

“I see you haven’t lost your touch,” he said. 

“Be serious or leave,” Saren snarled. He didn’t have the patience for Nihlus’ attitude today. The other Spectre could get serious when the situation called for it. Unfortunately, he rarely felt that the situation called for it unless all hell was breaking loose as Shepard liked to say. 

“Never thought I’d see the day when Saren Arterius gave a shit about a human,” Nihlus said, pushing off of the wall to follow him out of the building, “much less fall for one.”

“Shut up, Nihlus,” he growled.

Nihlus raised his hands. “I’m serious,” he said and his voice for once was solemn. “This human saved my life. I spent a week trapped in a demolished building with her. Trust me, I get it. She isn’t like the rest of them. I want her back, too. I owe her.” 

“Then come on,” he said. He sent a message to Vasir and Bau as they climbed into the skycar. He didn’t know where they were but he knew where they were going. It would have to be good enough.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets dark.

Shepard blinked as she took in her surroundings. She was naked and chained to a wall by a shackle around her ankles and metal cuffs that held her arms above her head and dug into her wrists. The room was bare with dark, stained walls, and concrete floors. A drain was in the center of the room and she didn’t want to contemplate its purpose. She tugged hard at the cuffs but only succeeded in cutting into her wrists and leaving blood trickling down her forearms. She had similar results with the shackle around her ankle. Her omni-tool chip was gone and she had no idea where she was. The room gave no clue. She could be on the Citadel. She could be in batarian space. Hell, she could be on Omega for all she knew. 

Her ribs ached and a glance down at them showed livid bruising all along her side. The way the bones ground together when she breathed told her that at least two were broken. Her arm was covered in cuts from shrapnel and her head pounded. She could feel her hair plastered to the side of her face and when she gently rubbed it against the inside of her arm, she felt the lump on her temple. She was lucky the blow hadn’t killed her. 

The door opened and a batarian walked up to her. She thought he looked familiar but she couldn’t place him. She supposed that he had been at the apartment. He tilted his head to the right in insult and it clicked. He looked almost identical to the batarian that had stopped them in the alleyway a few weeks before. So that was what this was about. It went back to Saren’s mission with the hanar slaves. Now, apparently, it was personal. If this guy wasn’t a close relative, she’d be shocked.

He confirmed her theory when he said, “My name is Draff Dar’hess. Your master killed my brother and raided our facility on Kar’Shan. We lost a significant amount of money. More, unfortunately, than your sale could garner us. Slaves should not be forced to pay for the sins of the master but, in this instance, it is both appropriate and unavoidable. We want our cargo back and he must understand that we do not bow to intimidation. What we are going to do to you is not personal, human.”

She raised her brow and said, “You’ve been watching human mob movies, haven’t you? ‘It’s not personal; it’s just business,’ is very overused.”

“Do not make this more difficult than it has to be,” he said, refusing to rise to the bait. Too bad. If he got close enough, she could kill him…somehow. “You are not the one we ultimately want. A turian Spectre is worth far more than a human slave. Imagine the price we could get for Saren Arterius. Call him here and we will release you.”

"No," she said. She had no doubt Saren would come for her. It was a matter of pride now. If these batarians were able to steal her away from him, then anyone could take anything. His reputation would be ruined. He wouldn't allow that to happen. Even if his pride wasn't at stake, he would have to find her for the Council. That didn't mean she was going to let him walk into a trap. She wouldn't betray him. If he found her on his own, he would assume it was one. She just had to stay alive long enough for him to find her. 

That was going to be easier said than done, she realized as two batarians and a vorcha entered the room and Draff stepped back. These guys really had been watching too many mobster vids. One of the goons carried a metal pipe. Another had a blade. The vorcha was carrying a flame thrower. She tried to swallow her fear at the last and almost choked on it. She hated fire. Vyrnnus had been a big fan of fire. Nothing that had been done to her had been as painful as the burns he'd inflicted. It was the kind of pain that made thought and reality flee until there was only the white-hot shattering voice of her nerves' discordant screaming. 

___

“Drive faster,” Saren snapped. “This is taking far too long.” Hours. The batarians had had her for hours. Spirits only knew what they were doing or had done to her and, unfortunately, his mind had far too many examples to call upon when it chose to picture her dead or dying. 

“It’s a skycar, not a fighter jet,” Nihlus said. “It only goes so fast.”

“Finding her was too easy,” Saren said. “Why would they take Shepard? They must have known I would come for her.”

“Maybe that's the point,” Nihlus suggested. “They wouldn't risk going after you directly. This gets you to a location of their choosing.”

"Bait," Saren said. Yes, that seemed likely. Batarians had a reputation for sadism. They wanted him to suffer for the damage he'd done to their operation. That wouldn't happen if they had attacked him in his home. Instead, they'd taken Shepard. He had protected her from them before. They would expect him to come for her if for nothing more than to punish them for taking what was his. It was a trap. 

___

The batarian with the pipe walked up to Shepard and gripped it like a baseball bat. _I will not scream,_ she promised herself as he swung. She felt and heard the crack of her knee joint as it made contact and the cuffs bit into her wrists as they were forced to take the entirety of her weight. She clenched her teeth together to stop the scream that rose in her throat and glared at the batarian. He swung again and more ribs cracked. The breath she gasped in felt like it was sending shards of glass through her lungs and she hoped it wasn't punctured. These guys weren't playing around. An overhand swing crushed her knuckles and a backhand landed across her shoulder blades, knocking what little air she had left from her lungs.

He moved behind her and used the pipe across her throat to hold her immobile. She suspected that she knew what was coming but suspecting it and feeling his hand brush against her ass as he unbuckled his pants were two very different things. Her eyes burned from tears she refused to cry. "Are you ready to call him, human?" Draff asked as the batarian behind her rubbed his barbed cock along the crease of her ass. The motion rocked her on her shattered knee and dug the cuffs into her wrists. 

"No," she said and almost laughed despite her pain and fear. They couldn't get past Saren's encryption. They didn't know how to contact him. The only method they had was her omni-tool and it would only activate for either her or Saren. They couldn't hack into it to get to his extranet address to connect to him. That meant their message was going to be that much harder to deliver. There was no way they would get into Tiberius Towers now. They couldn't access the _Desolate_. They would be forced to leave her body somewhere public and risk him never finding it. She could protect him. She'd withstood torture before. She could do it again if it meant keeping him safe. He really was more valuable than she was. He was a Spectre. His missions protected the galaxy as a whole. And she was the thing standing between him and almost certain death. She would not move. 

The batarian shoved himself into her ass then and this time, she didn't have enough air to scream as her body fought the unwelcome invasion and she felt herself tear. The pipe across her throat kept her pressed into him like a lover and she felt his oily sweat begin to slick her skin and the fine hairs that covered their bodies prickle against her with every harsh thrust. She tried to focus on those sensations rather than the pain and shame and fear but when he finally came in her ass and pulled out, she doubled over as far as she could and retched. 

“Be glad it was just my dick this time, whore,” he growled into her ear. “Next time, it’ll be the pipe, too.” He swung the pipe again and she knew there was no coming back from this. Pain radiated up her spine as her legs collapsed beneath her, leaving her hanging by the cuffs around her wrist. The good news was that her ass and knee no longer hurt. The bad news was that she could no longer move her legs. Fear and pain were cloying in the back of her throat.

He was replaced by the one with the knife. When he trailed the tip of the blade along her collarbone, she spit in his eye. The knife flipped and his fist crashed into her face with the hilt of the blade. She spit the blood that bloomed from her cheeks and tongue into his face, too. He laid the blade flat against her face and growled, "I always did think human noses were unnecessary." Her face contorted into a snarl and she kept her eyes locked defiantly on the lower set of his though her mind was consumed by fear and a disappointing amount of vanity. "How much does it mean to you?"

"Not enough," she said, proud that her voice was still even if a little hoarse from her screams.

The blade pierced the skin and Draff said, "Stop. Not her face. He may not recognize her if you mar her face. Raak."

"Yesss," the vorcha hissed. "Raak burn human!"

"Small burns," Draff said. "Don't torch her yet."

 _Oh, please, god, no._

___

Saren tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the approaching skycar to land. He had wanted to go in alone and find Shepard but Nihlus had insisted that he wait for backup. He'd pointed out that four Spectres were worth an entire batarian army and that they could get to Shepard much faster with all of them than with him working alone. Saren had agreed only because he knew that Nihlus was right. His former student was much more clear-headed than he at the moment as Saren's thoughts were consumed with what could be happening to his human at this moment. 

The car landed and the asari and salarian Spectres climbed out. Vasir prowled toward him and said, "Is this the place?"

He nodded curtly as Bau scanned the building. "Heavily fortified," Bau said. "At least one hundred heat signatures inside. I have a layout of the building. She is most likely being held here." He called up a holographic blueprint of the building and gestured to a room in the center on a floor beneath street level. A staircase led down to a pair of adjacent rooms. The smaller one might be an observation room but there was no other entrance or exit aside from the single door and a maintenance shaft on the roof. Bau and Vasir would take that way while Nihlus and Saren would go in through the front. The risk was that if they were detected, the batarians might just decide to go ahead and kill Shepard. 

Nihlus seemed to read his thoughts because he said, "Dead bait doesn't work. They won't kill her until you're inside and watching."

"We'll go in through the roof," Vasir said. "If they're focused on you, there's a chance we can get to her before they realize we're there."

"Do it," Saren said. 

He and Nihlus moved to the front of the building while Vasir and Bau went up to the roof and entered the maintenance shaft. Saren cursed the lack of windows that could have provided a less-obvious entry point. If his entire goal was destroying the batarians, the lack of other exit points would be in his favor. But the setup made keeping something inside far too simple. All they had to do was hold the door and he would be hard-pressed to get an injured Shepard out.

The sensation of walking into a trap strengthened when they entered and found no resistance awaiting them at the door. Either the batarians were incredibly stupid or they were attempting to draw him in. A glance at Nihlus confirmed his suspicions. The other turian felt it as well. They kept their rifles at the ready as they methodically cleared the first level and found nothing but empty rooms. Bau came over the comm and said, "Second floor clear. No hostiles. No target."

"They want you downstairs, Saren," Vasir said. 

Then downstairs he would go. Bau said, "Can't be right. Scans showed a large number of heat signatures. Where are they?"

"Shit," Nihlus groaned. "We've got cloaked hostiles." He punched a command into his omni-tool and a moment later, a drone appeared. "Time to test the new detection software. Go, drone."

They followed the glowing orb as it retraced their steps through the building. In the second room, it paused and hummed before shooting out bolts of electricity in three directions. The batarians' cloaks fell and Saren and Nihlus opened fire. A round hit him in the back but his shield absorbed it and he spun to face his attacker. He seriously wished that he had gotten cybernetic upgrades to his eyes as they would allow him to clearly see cloaked enemies. There was no time for that now, though, and he made an educated guess as to the enemy's position and was gratified to see the batarian fall.

___

Shepard screamed as flames licked over her back. The skin weave apparently did little to protect against burns. Her arms and belly were covered in them and she honestly did not know how much longer she would be able to hold out. Her mind was already screaming out for Saren. She could handle being beaten, cut, abused. She could not handle fire. A part of her said that she could find a way to warn him if she could speak to him, that he was smart enough to figure it out on his own even if he couldn't. 

A worse part of her said that she had no reason to feel any kind of loyalty to him. He wasn't her partner or her lover. He was her owner and an enemy species. She owed no loyalty to any of the rest of the galaxy, either. They hadn't helped humanity in the war. Hadn't she suffered enough already? Why should she be the one to bear his pain? All she had to do was give them Saren's extranet address. They might kill her then but they would stop _burning_ her. 

She heard the voice of Admiral Grissom at her N7 pinning ceremony in her head. _This training has been difficult for you. It's meant to be. There will come a time in your career when you are asked to give more than you believe you can. That moment will be the one that determines whether you have truly internalized the lessons that we have strived to teach you here. That moment will be the one where you either break or you dig deep and you find out who you really are. Our job has been to teach you how to figure that out, not to make that decision for you because it is one that only you can make. When that test comes, you remember this moment. You remember this feeling and you dig deep._

"Give me what I want and I will make it stop," Draff said. "Give me Saren."

Dig deep. Who was she? At her core, who was she when everything else was stripped away? If she died, the peace talks would continue. The Alliance wouldn’t throw it all away just for her any more than the turians would just for a few of their people. She was not that important. Saren was. Humanity wasn’t the only group out there anymore. Just as nationality had faded upon the discovery that humanity was not alone, the association of self with only one species rather than as a part of a larger whole had to end upon the discovery that there was the opportunity to come together with those races. She had seen enough in her time with Sparatus and Saren to have learned that there was a bigger picture out there. Humanity just had to join it. It was too late to fall back and isolate. It was time to move forward and integrate. That was the only way that humanity was going to survive this new reality. And that meant that protecting humanity was also going to mean protecting the Spectres. Saren had to live.

"Fuck you," she snarled.

He tilted his head to the right and gestured for Raak to continue. This time, he went for the metal on the cuffs. There was nowhere to run, no way to escape. Her body weight pressed her down into the super-heated metal and her only hope was that he would overdo it and soften the cuffs enough that she could pull through them. She was going to lose her hands. She was sure of it. And why not? She'd already lost her legs. There was no coming back.


	11. Chapter 11

The screams filtering up the staircase alongside the scent of burning flesh made Saren's stomach churn and his blood run alternatively cold and hot. He wanted to throw himself down the stairs, storm the room, and kill them all. Nihlus heard the subvocalization that he could not suppress and grabbed him by the elbow. "She's alive," he said. "We will keep her that way but you have got to _think_ , Saren. Do this smart and we can save her. Rush in like a fool and we all die."

"I am going to kill them all," he vowed.

"Then let's start with the watchers," Nihlus said, gesturing with his head toward the side room from which the sound of the screaming seemed to originate.

They were met by four batarians. Between Saren's biotics and Nihlus' tech attacks, they were able to put them down almost silently. Saren turned his attention to the one-way mirror set in the wall and felt his talons bury themselves in the control panel in front of him. Shepard was there and she was alive but that was the only good news. She was being held up by the wrists as her legs were bent at an angle that certainly meant they were broken. The limpness of her muscles below the waist told another story, one he didn't want to acknowledge. She was covered in blood and livid bruises. Her fingers were crushed. Her face was swollen. Her skin, so fresh and smooth when last he'd seen her, was blistered and blackened in spots from the flame thrower that was currently being applied to the front of her abdomen just above her sex. Between her screams, she was chanting something. He turned the volume up and listened closely. Name, rank, and serial number. 

"What are they trying to get from her?" he asked, searching the room around her. There were two batarians and the vorcha with her. One was clearly the leader. The other held the metal pipe that had broken her bones. He would put the vorcha in stasis to prevent him from burning her. Nihlus could take the one with the pipe. Vasir and Bau could cover the stairs and... No. Vasir and Bau would take the vorcha and the ringleader. He couldn't waste Shepard's time on retribution. He would just have to trust the others to do it for him. He had to get her to the hospital.

Through the speakers, he heard the leader speak. "You impress me, human." Shepard's head lolled forward on her chest as she heaved in hitching breaths that told him her ribs were broken. Her eye rolled up in her battered face to look at the batarian. The expression in them was empty and dead and promised death to her captors as well. "I must admit that our slaves, even with control chips, would have broken by now. What makes you so loyal?"

“Staff Commander K. Shepard, Alliance Navy N7, 5923-AC-2826, April 11, 2154,” she replied.

The batarian looked around the room. "He doesn't care about you, you know. You're property. Property he clearly has decided is not worth the trouble." The batarian knelt down so that she was looking at him and softened his voice. "You're going through all of this pain for nothing. A batarian master would have come for you by now."

"He'll come," she croaked. "You know he'll come. And when he does, he's not just going to kill you. He's going to destroy everything you love. He will bring your entire empire crashing down around your ears. He will take your family, your money, your caste, and your soul and he will demolish them. Your name will be synonymous with poverty and ruin by the time he is finished. You will be lower than a slave. No one steals from Saren Arterius. And don't think of running to the Council for protection. The batarians are an embarrassment to them. They're just looking for an excuse to cut your people out completely. You've endangered a treaty that, if left unsigned, will lead to the destruction of the entire galaxy."

The batarian surged upward and his fist snapped Shepard's head back. She rolled it forward again and Saren could see the fresh blood pouring from her nose and lip coating her teeth as she gave a macabre smile that was no longer entirely sane. "You know the best part?" she asked. "He'll let me watch him do it. No mercy. No quarter."

"Shut up, whore," the batarian shouted. "He is not coming and, without him, you are more good to me dead than alive! Get him here or die! Those are your options!"

"I will not betray him," she said. "So just kill me already and stop with the fucking foreplay." Spirits, he loved her. He and Nihlus positioned themselves on either side of the door. At Saren's nod, Nihlus gave it a vicious kick. It ruptured inward. "Cloaked batarian behind me!" she shouted out in warning as he cast a stasis onto the vorcha and turned to put himself between her and the batarian leader who'd jumped back when the door burst open. Nihlus sent an overload in her direction and the batarian's cloak fell. 

Saren froze at the sight of the knife against her throat as the batarian leader walked jauntily toward him, smoothing the front of his shirt as he did so. His arrogant smirk drew a growl from Saren and the batarian laughed at the sound. "I was hoping you'd join us, Spectre. I have a business proposition for you. I'm going to let you end today with one thing: her life or yours. I would prefer yours. Surrender to me and I will release her and let your friends leave with no further harm to any of them. Otherwise, I'll kill her. Release Raak to stop Jaathan and Raak will burn her alive. Hold Raak and Jaathan will slit her throat. Kill or disable both of them and I will overload the control chip planted in the back of her head and fry her brain. You have choices here, Spectre. More than you gave my brother."

“No,” Saren said, prowling toward the bastard. “You lost your right to negotiation the moment you put your filthy batarian hands on my woman. You are going to wear every mark she bears on her body and I guarantee that you will die pissing yourself and screaming for death without an ounce of the courage that she has shown.” 

“Was she that good of a fuck?” Drax’ brother asked the batarian who’d been holding the pipe. He looked fearfully between his boss and Saren. Drax’ brother said, “She didn’t look that special. Jaathan, satisfy my curiosity.” 

“Have at it,” Shepard said. “Can’t feel anything anyway and that was before I lost feeling below the waist. He probably should have used the pipe. I might have known he was back there.”

“He can always use the knife,” Drax’ brother threatened.

“Okay,” she said, sounding unconcerned. “This posturing gets you nowhere. He isn’t afraid of you. Do whatever you want to me. You’re still going to die a nobody, just another pile of unnamed batarian trash.”

The batarian crime lord narrowed his eyes at her and said, “Kill her.”

Saren watched in horror as the blade slashed across Shepard’s throat. The bright red blood that spewed from the gash would have been almost comical in its appearance had it not been _Shepard’s_ blood. Her body collapsed under the cuffs. Too late, Saren pulled the trigger and the batarian who’d been hidden behind her fell. He heard Nihlus’ rifle clatter and the second drop. He shot the vorcha in the head so that it couldn’t regenerate and then turned on the crime lord as Bau and Vasir ran down the stairs and into the room. “Hold him,” Saren ordered and ran across the room to Shepard. 

He tilted her head back and clamped his hand over the wound that was already beginning to knit closed. He used his omni-tool to slather medigel into it in an attempt to close the artery that was spraying her life’s blood out faster than the skin weave could heal her. “Stay with me, Shepard,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave me. Not like this.” He used his omni-blade to cut the cuffs from the ceiling and carefully lowered her to the ground in his arms as he continued to try to hold her throat closed. “Hold on, Shepard,” he begged as he activated the medical VI in his armor. “Spirits, Shepard, please don’t leave me like this.” He felt Nihlus’ hand come down on his shoulder and shook it off. He didn’t want his pity. He didn’t want to hear the mournful subvocals. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t bear it if he’d failed her.


	12. Chapter 12

She was drowning. That was the only possible explanation. She coughed and felt hot liquid spew from her mouth. Someone rolled her onto her side and braced her as her oxygen-starved body fought to expel the fluid from her lungs and throat. Every wracking cough sent knives deeper into her lungs and only exacerbated her dilemma. She opened her eyes and saw that the fluid was not clear like water but a bright, frothy red. Blood. She was drowning in her own blood.

“Easy, Shepard,” Saren said from behind her. “We are going to get you to the hospital. The ambulance is on its way. Try not to move. Your spine is broken and you have a punctured lung.” She heard him say as if to someone else, “I want him alive. I will deal with him later.”

“Trust me,” a turian voice said from a short distance away, “I’ll make sure you get your chance.” 

The voice was mildly familiar but she couldn’t place it until she remembered the dark red turian who’d run into the room alongside Saren. Nihlus? What was he doing here? She let the thought go because she didn’t have the energy to care. Her vision swam and she reached out blindly as it darkened. Saren’s hand stroked her hair and she heard him say something but she’d forgotten how to speak English, much less Palaveni.

___

When she woke again, she was in a cold room under bright white lights. The sound of machinery beeping steadily was a counterpoint to the whoosh and hiss of something else. Something was in her throat, choking her, and she began to cough again as panic began to set in. “Easy, Shepard,” Saren said and she felt his hand stroke her brow. “You are intubated. Don’t fight it. Relax.” Her eyes fluttered open and met his silver ones. In her peripheral, she saw him depress a plunger on something and darkness crept in once more.

___

“…don’t know how much longer we can stall.”

“However long...humans can damn well…”

“…don’t want to…every day we wait…”

“…don’t care. I’m not giving her...”

“…no choice…”

“…waking up. Go away, Sparatus. Shepard, can you hear me?” She groaned and reached out. His hand took hers and she felt his talons trail lightly through her hair. “Open your eyes, Shepard. Look at me.”

She looked up to find him leaning over her. She could see Sparatus standing off to the side in what appeared to be a hospital room. Memories flooded her and she squeezed her eyes shut again. She didn’t want to wake up to a world where she couldn’t move on her own. She didn’t want to see the damage done to her body or think about what had happened. She wanted the darkness again. 

“Hiding?” Saren asked. “I never thought to see you acting like a typical human.”

“Not today,” she said in a rough voice. “I can’t do it today.”

“Do what?” he asked.

“This,” she said. “Rise to your baiting.”

He huffed and then said, “I suppose, given the circumstances, I can…soften my approach.” He sounded utterly disgusted but she felt his forehead press against hers and heard Sparatus gasp. “I am sorry that you were forced to suffer for me.”

“Knew you’d come,” she said. “Couldn’t let them win.”

“I don’t give a shit about winning,” he said vehemently. “I couldn’t lose you. I love you, Shepard.”

“You shouldn’t,” she said. “Almost gave you up.”

“You should have,” he said. “It would have gotten me to you faster.”

“No,” she said. “They wanted you dead. I’m no traitor.”

“No, darling,” he agreed, “you aren’t. Speaking of which, your people are waiting for you. We’re going to get you back on your feet and get you home.” His voice sounded choked and tight when he said it.

Her bitter laugh turned into a cough and he pressed a straw against her lips. She took a sip of the water and said, “Bad joke, Saren.”

“I don’t joke,” he told her. “Your feet are fine. So are your legs. You are going to have to do physical therapy and may have to learn to walk again but you will walk.”

Her eyes opened and she looked deeply into his, searching for the lie. But Saren didn’t lie. He never lied. If he said it, it must be true. “I’ll walk?” she asked.

“You will walk,” he promised. “Do you feel this?”

He dragged a talon up her leg and her eyes widened. “I do! I can feel you.”

He looked over his shoulder and said again, “Go away, Sparatus.”

Sparatus nodded and withdrew and Saren cupped her jaw in his hand. “I was so afraid for you, Shepard,” he admitted as if the words were being dragged from him. “I have never in my career felt fear like that. I am sorry.”

“You saved me,” she said, reaching up to cup his mandible in her hand. She noted that her fingernails were still dark but the bones had been straightened and she could move them again. There were scars around her wrist but the skin itself was healed. 

“I killed him,” he said. “The men who did this to you are all dead.”

“I wanted to watch,” she said.

“I thought as much,” he told her. “I have it on vid. I couldn’t wait for you to recover. He didn’t deserve to live. He experienced _every_ mark on your body for himself before he died screaming in a puddle of his own piss.” He shook his head. “I have never known courage like you showed, Shepard. I am in awe of you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “For taking care of him.”

“No one touches what’s mine,” he said and pressed his lips to hers.


	13. Chapter 13

In the days that followed, Saren refused to leave her side. No task was too menial or too personal for him to handle. He allowed the nurses to do only the parts of their job that he could not do. He trusted no one to properly care for her but himself and that was demonstrated in his insistence upon double-checking her records and every dose of medication she received. He carried her to and from the bathroom to use the facilities. He bathed her himself. He slept and ate in the chair beside her bed.

When the doctors allowed her to sit up on her own, his were the hands that she held. When she was told to stand, he steadied her when she would have fallen. She braced her hands on his forearms when she took her first shuffling steps to his chair and he caught her against his chest when she stumbled. He was infinitely patient with her but she began to see what his trainees went through under him because he pushed her to limits the medical staff would not have asked her to attempt and she herself thought she couldn’t reach. He always knew when to push and when to stop. She was exhausted every night when she returned to her bed but stronger, too. Within a week, she was traversing the length of the hall and standing with his assistance to shower.

Her body still bore the marks of her ordeal and his eyes darkened whenever he saw them. She thought on more than one occasion that he would have killed Draff again on a daily basis if he could have. Whatever he’d done to him, it hadn’t been enough to sate his fury. She thought that she couldn’t let him see how deeply they affected her until one night when she thought he was asleep and she lifted the blankets and her hospital gown to examine them. His hand covered hers where she was tracing the burns on her belly and she looked up to see his silver eyes gleaming in the dark. 

“You can tell me,” he said. “You can rage or…cry…or…talk or…whatever humans do when they grieve. It is all right to blame me.”

“I’m ashamed,” she whispered. 

“Why?” he asked, settling himself beside her on the bed and drawing her into his arms.

“I was afraid,” she admitted. “Terrified. I thought…when he brought out the torch, I thought I was going to break.”

He moved so that he was looking down at her and she could see his mandibles pressed tightly against his face. “Shepard, I have tortured countless people for information. None of them have ever resisted me. And yet I have never felt barbaric or like a monster until I was repaying mark for mark what you had suffered. What they did to you…it goes beyond any semblance of civility or justification or forgiveness. That you not only endured and survived it but resisted and refused to give them what they wanted…the strength of will required is unimaginable.”

“You wouldn’t have broken,” she said. “It wouldn’t have occurred to you.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “Vorchas with flamethrowers make me nervous under the best of circumstances.”

“I can’t see you ever getting nervous,” she said.

“When they took you, I panicked,” he said. “I probably would have rushed in and gotten us both killed had Nihlus not been there.”

“So that was Nihlus,” she said. “I thought I recognized him. I’m glad he’s still around. He was the first turian I ever met who made me look at you as people and not just big, spiky monsters. How’s his wife?”

“Dead,” he said. “Six years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

“You’re being released tomorrow,” he said, his arm tightening around her.

“I know,” she said softly. 

“The Alliance will be here to pick you up in the morning. The Council already has our prisoners. They’ll be released to the Hierarchy when you leave,” he said.

“I don’t want to go,” she said. “I haven’t seen a human in over five years. I was never really…I never really fit in with them even before I was captured. My team was the only family or friends I had. I joined the Alliance to get off of Earth. I don’t want to go back.”

His talons traced idle-seeming circles on her shoulder and his voice held a forced casualty as he looked up at the ceiling and said, “Humans will be allowed on the Citadel. You are being made a Council race as part of the reparations to your species for the war. You have all of Council space at your disposal.” He paused and then said, “And Council races can become Spectres. I do not believe that humanity is ready for that but you are. The Council doesn’t shackle its operatives or tell us how to do our jobs.”

“I thought you worked alone,” she said.

“I may have…incentive…to change that practice,” he said.

“Are you asking me to come back to you, Saren Arterius?” she asked.

He did look at her now. “I do not want to lose you, Shepard. I would keep you with me for the rest of my life but I do love you and that means I must let you go. That does not mean that I am selfless enough not to hope that you will someday choose to return to me of your own free will. I am not asking for a decision now. I am simply letting you know that it is an option should you find yourself wondering where your future will take you.”

“I love you, Saren,” she said. 

“And I you, Shepard.” He pulled her to him and she thought she heard him whisper into her hair, “Come back to me.”

He hesitated when she put her arms around his neck and drew him to her for a kiss. She looked up at him and said, “I’m still yours, right? Tonight, at least?” He nodded. “Then take me because I can’t leave here knowing he was the last person inside of me.”

He whispered her name against her lips and carefully drew the gown over her head. His hands on her were gentle and she felt his talons retract. His mouth feathered over her jaw and down her throat and his tongue slid hot and rough over the pink scar on her throat. An arm slid beneath her to hold her to him as his hand glided over her body, touching every part of her like he was trying to memorize her. She felt like a goddess being entreated by a penitent as he worshiped her body. Her soft gasps and moans were underscored by the rumble in his chest, a new tone that she had never heard before. 

Her own hands stroked his fringe and the back of his neck and collar as she tried to absorb him into herself. She never would have imagined that she could feel this aching need to make him a part of her, that she would come to love Saren Arterius, but she did. She loved his brusqueness and his ruthlessness. She loved this unexpected side of him that she imagined no one else had ever seen. She loved his determination and his steadiness and his honesty and his dedication. She loved everything about him. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, call it insanity, call it whatever one wanted. She didn’t want to leave him.

His eyes held hers as he slid carefully into her and settled so deep inside of her that she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. “I love you, Shepard,” he said and pressed his forehead to hers with the unmistakable keen of mourning. Her arms wrapped around him and she simply held him there with her as night gave way to day.


	14. Chapter 14

Earth had changed in her absence. It wasn’t as technologically advanced as the Citadel but there were definite changes and she imagined they were the first of many as humanity began to make the effort to integrate itself into the galactic community. Shepard spent her first months as a supposedly free woman in Vancouver in Alliance HQ being debriefed on her capture and captivity and undergoing extensive psychotherapy. The therapist felt that she was in denial as she continued to maintain that she did not see the turians as enemies and her primary difficulties stemmed from her capture by the batarians. The woman could not seem to understand that she viewed Saren Arterius in a positive light and insisted that she was, in fact, the victim of Stockholm Syndrome. 

Captain—now Admiral—Anderson visited her regularly. He held a great amount of guilt for sending her to Shanxi with orders he’d known would be disastrous. He admitted that Sparatus had contacted the Alliance within days of her capture to offer an exchange of prisoners and was denied. The therapist had a field day when Shepard told her that her anger was directed more at the Alliance than the turians. She was labeled a potential traitor and given an honorable discharge within a month. 

Upon her release, she went to Kaidan’s parents’ home. His mother and father shocked her by pulling her into their arms and crying with her. They refused to accept her apologies for his loss and insisted that he had known the risks and accepted them. Ash’s family responded to her visit in much the same way. Her father gave Shepard a beer and made her sit in a chair under a tree as he grilled steaks and regaled her with tales of Ash as a child. Ashley’s sisters filled in more of her life and their mother dabbed at her eyes with a napkin on more than one occasion but assured Shepard that she was just touched that she’d come to see them.

With that complete, she found herself at loose ends. She wanted to return to the Citadel but she knew that the therapist was right about one thing. She had not yet dealt with all of the varying emotions from her time in captivity and if she returned now, she would always think of herself as property of Saren Arterius. She wanted him but she wanted to be with him on equal footing. She found a cabin in the woods and used part of her back pay from the Alliance to buy it. She needed to be alone, to have no one to whom she must answer, to make the simple choice of when to sleep and when to wake, when to walk and when to sit, when to eat and when to clean and when to simply lie on her back in the grass and stare up at the leaves as they changed from green to red and gold to brown and eventually to green again. 

It was a full year before she stepped off of the transport on the docks of the Citadel. She found a hotel and spent a week exploring the station on her own. It felt odd to be walking around alone with her neck bare and her head held high rather than with the downcast eyes of a slave. It was stranger still to see other humans doing the same. She even found a human café and a bar frequented by more humans. She almost ran into an asari when she saw the first human C-Sec officer. Things had certainly changed and the Council had not been kidding when they’d said that humanity would be integrated. 

At the end of the week, she stood in front of a familiar apartment with her hand poised to knock. Nerves assailed her without warning and she paused. What if he wasn’t here? What if he’d forgotten her? What if he’d decided that he was better off without her? What if his hatred of her kind had overcome his love for her? She stood frozen in place until the new door slid open. 

“Shepard?”

“Saren,” she whispered. “I should have called.”

“No,” he said, staring at her with his mandibles splayed into a stunned expression. “You’re back, then?”

She nodded and belatedly realized that her hand was still raised. She lowered it and wiped her slick palm on the side of the asari-style dress she’d purchased. “Last week,” she said. “I wanted to…see it. On my own.” He was still staring at her and hadn’t moved. She shuffled her feet and said, “I should go. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

He caught her as she turned and pulled her into his arms. His mouth came down on her with almost bruising force and then he was dragging her back into the apartment with him. He pushed her gently into the wall and buried his hands in her hair as his tongue fluttered against her lips, requesting entrance. She groaned and opened for him as her arms circled his neck and her hands found the amp ports there. 

“I can’t be gentle,” he warned.

“I don’t care,” she whispered against his mouth. “I want you. I _need_ you.”

With a low growl, he pushed her skirt up around her waist and wrapped her legs around his. His knuckles brushed against her center as he unfastened his trousers and drew himself out. She gasped and arched against him as he pushed into her, using his grip on her to pull her down into him. Her body resisted the sudden intrusion at first and he hissed in a breath at her tightness. He gave her little time to adjust, instead pushing hard into her as her nails scraped against his amp ports. His talons pressed into the skin on her hips and she rolled them into him to take him deeper. 

“Spirits, Shepard,” he gasped. “Do that again.”

She did and moaned as he pulled her into him and over his base, sealing himself inside of her. He braced a hand against the wall and wrapped an arm under her hips for leverage and began to slam into her over and over as she clung to him and chanted his name. Every time he seated himself inside of her, it felt like coming home. She came hard around him and felt him tense as he spilled into her. 

His forehead dropped down to meet hers and he breathed, “I missed you, Shepard. I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“I belong to you,” she said. “Of course I would come back.”

“No,” he said. “I belong to you.”


End file.
